The Hand that Feeds
by Soleilah
Summary: She remembered how the moment had sparked a fire in her—a fire she first thought to be furious and defiant, but which over time grew into flames of passion, threatening to burn her spirit to ash without the kindling of his touch. She could feel it dying now, and she feared even he would no longer be able to fuel the embers.[Post AC/DoC][Slight Rufus x OC]
1. Past: The First Meeting

**AN: **Hi everyone! Welcome to The Hand That Feeds, formerly known as Knife to a Gunfight! This is a reboot of a story that I had started over _eight years ago! _Yeah, you read that right. I was fourteen at the time, but when I went back to reread it before I cleaned out my account, I realized it still had some potential. So, here it is! Though I'm unsure of where it's headed just yet, I really hope I get to finish it this time. Anything that gets me writing is a good thing.

No preface necessary. Just jump right in. If you enjoy it, please review! I'd love to hear your thoughts, ideas, or constructive criticism. Thanks so much for reading.

Disclaimer: I don't own any Square copyrighted material.

* * *

Rhea had just finished cleaning the windows of the Materia shop when the first raindrops began to fall over the streets of Edge. She had always liked a rain shower at dusk, when the clouded light of dusk blurs the line between the real and the imagined. Strange shadows crawled along the streets and up the sides of buildings, creating shapes she might have seen in a dream or in the far reaches of her memory. She watched them dance in the corners of her vision until the sinking sun was finally swallowed whole by the menacing thunderheads.

She heard the shuffle of feet behind her and turned to look at Paddy, the owner of the shop. He was a shrunken old man, probably three times her age, but he had a kind face hidden behind a wiry white beard. He leaned on a molded metal rod that he used as a cane and squinted one of his beady black eyes at her.

"Today's the day, huh?" he asked.

Rhea smiled at him before turning back to the world outside the window. She could see the peak of a tall white skyscraper over the beams and pilings of the building across the street. "Yeah."

"You nervous?"

She shook her head. "I'm sure it won't be a big deal."

Two weeks earlier, Rhea had gotten a visit from her brother, the ghost of her past. He had showed up at her door, hands in his pockets, smiling at her through the chain lock. She hadn't seen him in over four years, and hadn't wished too. She had almost slammed the door in his face, but his hand caught the edge of it. Without a word, he slipped a piece of paper through the crack in the door. She had opened the crinkled sheet and read its hopeful message, eyes tumbling over the words in disbelief.

When she looked up, Reno had gone.

Rhea's daydream was interrupted by Paddy's wrinkled hand on her shoulder. "Go on then," he said. "You don't want to be late."

She gave the old man another halfhearted smile. "Thanks Paddy," she said softly. "I'll see you next week."

Paddy tapped her gently on the shoulder before turning to the back of the store. With a deep breath, she shouldered her bag and strode out into the warm summer rain.

Rhea pulled the hood of her jacket up over her head to shield it from the rain. She glanced down at the paper in her hand. The ink was smeared from where her wet fingers had touched the page, but she had memorized its message already. The look, she thought, was just to make sure it was still real.

She took the first of many steps in the direction of her destination, brushing shoulders with the other citizens, some privileged, some hardened, all destitute in some way or another. A pickpocket looked her up and down, knowing just by the look of her that she was not worth the effort. A suited man cursed her for kicking mud onto his pants and shoes. She offered no apology.

Rhea ducked through an alley and weaved her way through smoldering barrels and the twitching, mumbling bodies that stood hunched beside them, begging for spare change. When she emerged on the other side, it was as if she had stumbled upon a palace. The blazing white skyscraper rose above her like a towering spire. People in their suits and jackets came pouring in and out of the building, toting black umbrellas and briefcases. She climbed the stairs carefully, deliberately, brushing past the chattering businesspeople, eavesdropping on their conversations of big and little consequence. When she reached the top, the doors whirred open for her and a blast of warm air rolled out. She stood on the rug for a while, shaking out her jacket and taking in the sights and sounds of the World Restoration Organization headquarters.

Everything seemed as though it were made of glass—even the benches lay perched on crystal legs that seemed to defy gravity. Grand chandeliers hung from the ceiling and gave the huge lobby a warm glow. Despite its bustle and grandness, the room somehow calmed her.

When her eyes had seen enough, Rhea began to move over toward the welcome desk, startled when she felt a heavy hand on her shoulder. She turned and saw a large man dressed in a black and white uniform, toting a gun on his hip.

"S'cuse me, miss," he said, "you have to go through the detector first."

She looked over his shoulder and saw the line of businesspeople and visitors who stood waiting to go through the metal detector. She nodded apologetically and shuffled over to the line.

When it came to her turn, Rhea stepped through the gate and jumped at the high-pitched ring that followed. The guard in front of her stood up straighter.

"Please step back through and remove all of your belts and jewelry," he instructed. Rhea obeyed, carefully removing her belt, earrings, and cigarettes and placing them on the conveyor, along with her lighter. The guard picked it up and examined it. "Gonna have to confiscate this," he said glumly. "Sorry—W.R.O. policy." Not knowing what else could be done, she nodded before heading through the detector a second time, relieved that it remained silent. She gathered up her things and headed to the welcome desk at last.

The attendant there perked up. "Hello, welcome to the W.R.O. Headquarters," she said. How may I help you?"

"I'm here to see the president," Rhea said flatly, feeling very out of place.

"Oh," said the attendant skeptically. "Do you have an appointment?"

Rhea suddenly remembered her note and handed over the crinkled, ink-smudged scrap of paper. The attendant scanned it, her eyes going wide for a moment.

"Oh, I'm very sorry Ms. Flynnt. Please wait here for a moment."

The attendant returned the note to Rhea and disappeared for a few seconds, returning with a slender, dark-haired woman in tow.

"Ms. Flynnt," the woman said, extending her hand, "it's a pleasure to meet you, my name is Cora. I am President Shinra's personal assistant."

Rhea shook Cora's hand, dumbfounded by the response she'd gotten from a simple letter. Was she really on her way to meet the president?

"The President has been waiting for your arrival," Cora went on. "Please, follow me, Ms. Flynnt."

The assistant led the way toward the elevators and Rhea had to jog to catch up. "You can just call me Rhea," she said, surprised by how small her voice sounded. Cora did not respond—she simply smiled as she swiped her keycard beside the elevators. The doors immediately flew open and they stepped inside.

Just as soon as the doors closed, the elevator shot up the shaft, passing floors with incredible speed. Rhea gripped the bar behind her for support and watched the floor numbers speed by. The elevator slowed as the numbers passed 60, climbing one by one until it stopped at last on 70 with a subtle bob. The doors slid back and Cora again started off briskly down the hall. Rhea jogged after her. The hall was brightly lit with the same chandelier-style lights, albeit smaller, with walls painted a bright eggshell color, and floor carpeted with wine-colored velvet. Her boots made no noise as she scuttled along behind the assistant.

Cora came to a stop beside two large mahogany doors, and Rhea followed suit. Cora pressed her finger down onto a button on a keypad beside the doors and spoke into it.

"Cora here with Rhea Flynnt."

There was a short pause before a quiet voice played back through the intercom.

"Send her in alone."

With that, a large clanging noise echoed through the hall and one of the grand doors popped open. Cora pushed it ajar further, smiling as she motioned for Rhea to pass through. She obeyed and lifted her long, slender legs over the threshold, feeling as though she were stepping into another world.

Rhea jumped as the door slammed closed behind her, the noise echoing off the vaulted ceilings and marble floors of the foyer she was now standing in. It was lit with another small chandelier overhead, and two huge columns stood guard beside the entrance to the room beyond. Rhea took a few steps toward one of them, the clack of her boots sounding like tiny gunshots on the sparkling black tiles. She reached out her hand and touched the cold marble of the pillar as she passed it, her eyes rolling over the grand space ahead. The room was divided by a more columns, four of them framing a low-set lounge area in the center, complete with plush sofas and chairs. Rhea made her way around the lounge, following the softly curving walls of the suite, interrupted only by closed doors and several paintings, mostly murals and portraits of what she could only assume were former presidents. One mural in particular caught her eye: It depicted the gruesome scene of the great, mighty Meteor plummeting toward the planet, casting its enormous shadow on Midgar and its helpless citizens. It all came back so clearly as she looked at that painting, how she had cowered in fear below the crumbling plates of the upper world, unsure of whether the sun would rise another day...

"It'll be five years next month." A confident voice startled Rhea from her reverie. She spun toward it and cast her eyes upon the man that voice belonged to. "Five years since Meteor struck. Seems like just yesterday, doesn't it?"

Rhea did not reply right away, rather, she let her eyes roam over the man that stood before her: he was tall, taller than he seemed on television, with much sharper features. His nose was refined, even a little bit long, and his eyebrows seemed set in a permanent expression of conviction. Below them sat two eyes of deep blue color, dark and narrowed, obviously occupied with the same analysis she was giving him. He was dressed as though he were ready for television appearance: his long arms were crossed over an off-white satin vest and shirt, a black tie and kerchief starkly contrasting it; a pair of black suit pants matched them.

Suddenly, his hand unfolded itself from his chest and extended out toward her. His offhanded smile caught her off guard—it seemed so different than the stone-faced, narrow-eyed expression she'd seen so often on TV.

"Rufus," he said, his voice softer than before. "Rufus Shinra. It's nice to finally meet you, Rhea. Your brother has told me so much about you."

Rhea took his hand timidly, feeling his other one fold over the top of hers. She let her arm be moved only by his motions and nothing else. Precedent had conditioned her mind to be intimidated, and yet the affable air about him betrayed those feelings. When he finally released her hand, she let it fall to her side, where it curled into a fist against her skirt.

His hand suddenly swept into a wide gesture, motioning toward a desk at the back of the suite. "Come sit," he said, leading the way. Rhea followed, her eyes scanning the wall-to-wall window behind the desk that looked out over the streets of Edge and remnants of the grand city that was once Midgar. Rufus had pulled out a chair for her and motioned for her to sit. She did.

He made his way around to the other side of the desk where he relaxed into a high-backed chair and pulled himself in. Rhea crossed her legs awkwardly, smoothing her skirt across her thighs as Rufus shifted some documents around his desk. He propped open a folder and clicked a pen before clearing his throat.

"So, Ms. Flynnt," he began, "or...do you prefer Rhea?"

She blinked at him. "...Rhea is fine."

He smiled. "So, Rhea," he repeated, "please tell me a little bit about yourself."

Rhea stared at him again, this time for longer and with an expression of confusion spreading about her face. "I'm sorry, I don't…" she started, but Rufus wasn't fazed. "With all due respect, Mr. President—"

"Rufus," he interrupted, his face stony but still smiling. "Call me Rufus."

Rhea cast him a grave look. "With all due respect...Rufus," she repeated, "I didn't come here to talk about myself. I came here because my brother said you could help get me out of the slums."

Rufus snapped his folder shut and leaned back in his chair, lacing his fingers together and resting his elbows on the armrests. "I'm aware of this," he said, giving her a look of patience. "However, whether or not you qualify for relocation assistance solely rests on my judgment. It is my duty to determine if you meet the criteria set forth by the Organization."

Rhea's mouth fell open slightly in disbelief. She had not come to this place with high hopes—though her brother had vowed to get her a meeting with the president, she had learned long ago to not to trust empty promises. She thought perhaps, if she were lucky, she would get to speak to a W.R.O. representative, to whom she would tell a heartfelt sob story of her struggles in the slums, and then two months later she would hear back that her claim had been denied.

Now her expectations had been shattered and she was left with a flutter of anxiety in her stomach. She knew sob stories wouldn't work on Rufus, especially considering his relationship to Reno, which meant the truth was the only option. She hadn't revisited the empty void of her past in years, and did not look forward to doing it in the company of a sitting president.

"It's alright." The President's voice broke her contemplative silence. "Start with the simple things—the basics. Just...start talking."

Rhea looked up at him. She wanted to be encouraged by his half-smile, but she found it hard to be hopeful. She didn't think Rufus was prepared to stare into the twisted truths of her life.

"Well, I..." she began, letting herself settle back into the chair. "My name is Rhea Selene Flynnt... I am 26 years old. I spent the first ten years of my life on the upper plate of Midgar, Sector 2. My parents' names were Claire and Julian Flynnt..."

Rhea trailed off and Rufus looked up after he finished writing a sentence down in his folder. She looked over at it but couldn't read it upside-down. "You say you spent your first ten years in Sector 2," Rufus said. "What happened after that?"

Rhea looked over his shoulder at the sky beyond the window. It was a mottled mass of blue and gray, all leaking and pressing against the twisted metal of the once-glorious structures of Midgar.

"You might remember my mother," she began. "She was an employee of yours once."

Rufus's smile disappeared. "Actually," he said, "she was employed under my father. But yes, I remember her."

Rhea nodded. "She was the head of some big department there. She used to tell us she helped to build Midgar, but Reno and I always thought she was kidding. I don't remember much about those years. The only day I can ever really remember is the one she died. It was some special occasion and she was invited to a big gala at the Shinra Building... She decided at the last minute to take all of us along—my father, my brother and me. Reno was twelve and I was ten."

Rhea stopped. Her mind began to wander; her gaze was still locked on the darkening sky outside. It brought her back to that long-forgotten time and place. She hadn't thought of it in years.

"What happened next?" His voice did not bring her back to reality, but rather sank her deeper into her memories.

"We were held up. By a gang. Dad tried to give them his wallet, but they said they weren't after money. Mom hid us behind a dumpster just before they saw her and told us not to make a sound. I could barely make out the shapes through the cracks in the metal. They beat Dad down when he tried to reason with them. Reno and I were so quiet. They saw Mom's Shinra badge and called her names and spat on her. They would have done terrible things to her if Dad hadn't thrown himself at them. I remember feeling Reno leave my side just as the gunshots went off—"

Rufus hadn't written a word while she spoke, but left his eyes locked on her own, faraway ones. Rhea was quiet a moment before her gaze trailed back to his. She brought one of her delicate fingers up just below her eye where a bright red mark was carved into her sunken cheekbone.

"The gang marked them," she said. "So everyone would know it was their kill."

Rufus scribbled to catch up. "What about you and Reno?" he asked.

"They initiated us," Rhea said. "Marked us too so no rival gangs could scoop us up."

Rufus looked up. "This gang..." he said. "Who were they exactly?"

"They called themselves 'Hydra'," she said quietly. "They started out as a few ex-Shinra workers who were fired for tampering with Mako..."

"How so?"

Rhea let her eyes drift back to his. They were almost as dark as the night sky blooming outside the window. "Shouldn't you know this stuff already?" she asked. She was becoming more and more uncomfortable as the conversation progressed.

"Not necessarily," Rufus explained. "Some of it I've gathered from Reno's file, but it's not an intensive profile. Most of this occurred and ended under my father's command, and he and I didn't exactly…get on."

Rhea exhaled sharply. She scratched the crook of her elbow softly, then stood and walked toward the large pane of glass before her. Rufus swiveled in his chair and followed her intently as she paced before it.

"Materia is made by cooling and condensing pure Mako," Rhea said, still not looking at him. "Do you know what happens when you heat it intensely?"

Rufus did not reply. He did not even shake or nod his head. Rhea spun on him and took a deep breath.

"It becomes the perfect drug," she said simply, crossing her arms. "It loses everything except its most basic components. Shoot it up and it's like drinking in a dream."

Rufus looked at her for a while, his pen poised above his folder but unmoving. Rhea broke a cynical smile.

"Hydra found this to be a very lucrative business," she continued. "They would steal Mako from Shinra reactors, cook it in underground labs, and sell it on the streets for huge profits. They used me and Reno as scouts and runners." Rhea began to pace slowly, scratching her arm a little harsher now. "They shot us up with a little bit more every day—until we were addicted and completely under their control."

Rhea stopped and caught Rufus's stare. His face was stony, but a hint of something softer shone through in his eyes. "That's sick," he said.

Rhea scoffed and stopped scratching. "It's the truth." Rufus followed her with his eyes as she made her way around to the front of the desk. She fell into the chair and reached her hand into her jacket pocket where she retrieved her cigarettes. She pulled one out and twirled it between her fingers. "You wouldn't happen to have a lighter, would you?" she asked.

To Rhea's surprise, Rufus pulled out a small golden lighter from the breast pocket of his vest. Reaching over the desk, he flicked it open and struck the flint. The bright flame danced in Rhea's amber eyes as she brought the cigarette to her lips and lit it. She leaned back into her seat and inhaled, blowing a long, wispy line of smoke up toward the ceiling. It disappeared a moment later.

Rufus turned the lighter over in his hands for a moment, contemplating the stories Rhea had just shared with him. He closed the lid and handed the sleek lighter back over to her. "Here," he said. "You can keep it."

Rhea gave him a glum look as she took another drag from her cigarette. After another exhale, she reached out and took it, if only to replace the one the guards had confiscated in the lobby. She tucked it into her jacket next to her cigarettes and enjoyed the silence and the feeling of smoke entering and exiting her lungs.

Rufus watched her intently. Her eyes were distant, as if she had been transported somewhere miles away, far from the horrors she was reliving in this room. Still, her posture remained strong. She had learned, much like her brother, that strength in appearance and strength of mind are often very different. He watched her resist the urge to touch her arm again. She folded it into herself defensively and caught his gaze.

He cleared his throat, picking up his pen and folder again. "My father didn't take kindly to people tampering with his Mako," Rufus mused. "He must have sent the Turks after them."

Rhea nodded. "The men in blue coats..." she said, her voice sinking to a mere whisper. Her memory faded back into the past as a cloud of smoke rose before her eyes. "Reno and I had been with Hydra for four years before they intercepted one of our shipments." She inhaled deeply. "They killed everyone."

"But you and Reno were spared," Rufus said. "Why?"

Rhea thought about it a moment. "I can't really say," she replied. "Maybe you should ask them."

Rufus looked uncomfortable for a moment, until Rhea's exhaling mouth turned upward in an amused smile. He relaxed. "You're sharp," he said, "just like your brother."

Rhea's smile disappeared. "I'd rather not be compared to him," she said. "We're not as alike as you say."

A silence passed between them thicker than the smoke that seemed to linger after each of her breaths. Rhea drew from the dwindling cigarette, her eyes locked on his and nothing else for the first time that night. It was Rufus who cast his gaze away at last. He snapped his folder shut and tossed his pen down onto the desk.

"I've scheduled another meeting for tomorrow," he said, leaning back into his chair, "with President Tuesti and myself. We'd like you to stay in our suites tonight, if you don't mind. The meeting is at 10:30 sharp. Cora will assist you with the arrangements."

Rhea wanted to protest, feeling suddenly assertive, but remembered her fate rested on these meetings. Instead, she stood, leaned over the desk, and smashed her cigarette into the ashtray that sat near his folded hands. Rufus reached out and picked up the phone that lay beside it, calling for Cora to escort Rhea to the suite. He rose a moment later, his face a stony slab, and led the way to the exit. When they arrived, he pulled one of the grand doors open. Rhea reached out and placed her hand on it as she walked passed. She noticed Rufus's eyes drift to the bend in her arm and smirked.

"I know what you're wondering," she said softly. She turned her arm over and showed him the pale skin there. There were scars, yes, but they were faded, and the veins were bright and blue. "I've been clean five years." He looked away, embarrassed. "Besides, it's hard to find that stuff ever since Hydra fell off the map." She smirked and stepped out into the hall. Cora was already waiting outside.

Rufus watched them disappear down the dark corridor with folded arms and narrowed eyes.


	2. Present: The Second Meeting

A slow trail of smoke wafted out over the dead summer air, gradually sinking down into the stirring city below. Rhea flicked the ashes of her cigarette and took another drag. The sun was just now rising over the buildings to the east, its warm glow soon to turn to sweltering heat. Rhea felt her cigarette burn to its end and flicked it away, watching it fall past the dozens of floors and balconies below hers. She could not remember ever being in a building this high. The tiny heads of the people on the ground looked like marbles from where she stood.

Though the heat and haze were slowly beginning to creep over the city, Rhea did not mind. She was enjoying the feel of the sun on her skin and watching birds flit about the power lines crisscrossing the street below. Rarely did the sun force its way through the smog of the slums enough for anyone to feel its rays. Still, 10:30 was slowly creeping up, and she had yet to enjoy the luxury of the porcelain bath in her suite, so she pushed herself off the railing of the balcony and headed back inside.

Evidence of a much-needed good night's rest still showed in the bedroom: twisted sheets and several strewn-about pillows. It had felt like sleeping on a cloud compared to the half-broken mattress that lay on the floor of her apartment in the slums. As much as she longed to fall back into it, she resisted and made for the bathroom.

Once there, she plugged the bottom of the claw-foot tub and filled it with steaming hot water. She added a concoction of the bath products provided and took in the intoxicating scent that followed. When the water had nearly reached the edge of the tub, Rhea shut off the tap, stripped down and sank herself into the hot, lathered water. She sighed as it rolled over her like a satin blanket, every knot in her tired body relaxing; every sore muscle reinvigorated.

As she lay curled like a child beneath the blanket of water, Rhea contemplated what would come of her meeting today. President Tuesti, the true face of the W.R.O. would be present this time, there to judge her every success and failure. But what worried her more was Rufus's evaluation of their meeting the night before. She knew she had made an impression on him, but she was doubtful about whether that impression was good or bad. She had been confident in her ability to win over a low-level W.R.O. rep with a contrived story, but she had dug herself a very deep hole in trying to impress the president of the most wealthy and powerful organization on the planet.

Rhea lifted her left arm out of the water. The cool air made gooseflesh ripple all along it. She ran her fingers along the deep blue veins beneath the surface and over the small puckered scars at the crook of her elbow. It had been years since they itched as they had the night before. She hadn't been in the capacity to let it bother her then, but now it nagged at her. She wondered now if it had been the right thing to do to tell Rufus about her drug issues. She could feel even then his reticence on the subject, as if he had never thought it possible that such an atrocity existed. Still, he had been young, almost as young as she, when Hydra had risen to power, and they had been eradicated long before he ascended to the helm of Shinra. The manufacturing of Mako in such a way had now become a lost art, and bigger crises had pushed it deep into the troubled history of this planet.

Rhea had begun to sink deeper into the tub with every dark thought, until her chin grazed the now lukewarm water. She took a moment to push out all thoughts of her past and her possible future. When her mind had settled, she gripped the side of the tub and stood, pulling the plug out of the bottom of the bath. She had set out a fluffy white robe for herself which she pulled on and tied up, just as a knock sounded at the door.

"Miss Flynnt, it's Cora." A muffled voice came from behind the door. "I have a message for you."

Rhea exhaled sharply, glad it was not Rufus there early to take her to her meeting. She made her way to the foyer where she opened the door to the hall just a crack.

"Good morning, Miss Flynnt," Cora said. She looked as pleasant and composed as ever, smiling at her from the hall. "The president has requested your presence on the 58th floor for brunch."

Rhea raised her eyebrows. It had been weeks since she'd had a full breakfast, never mind a full meal afterwards. "Oh," she said, "hold on, I just have to get dressed." She was about to close the door when Cora cleared her throat.

"The president has also provided this," she said, "in the hopes that you'll wear it to the meeting today." She held up a small, paper-wrapped package. Rhea inspected it for a moment before she accepted the package and slowly unwrapped it. She took the corners of what lay inside and dropped the wrapping, letting the garment unfold. It was a beautiful black sheath dress, its silky soft fabric draped in perfect shapes. Rhea stared at it for quite some time, trying to decide whether she was pleased or disturbed by the gift. Cora cleared her throat again and Rhea perked up. She held up a pair of black pumps to match.

Rhea looked from Cora's smiling face, to the dress, to the heels, and back to Cora. She finally scooped up the shoes defiantly. "One minute," she said, letting the door close softly as she shed her fluffy robe and slipped into the fine garment. It fit perfectly, as if it had been tailored to her every curve. The shoes too slipped on and fit better than even her own. She glanced at herself in the mirror, smoothing the dress out over her narrow hips. It was beautiful, but Rhea felt strange in it, as if she were betraying the hard-worn and battle-tried garments she'd worn in the day before. The dress had not yet earned its keep.

Cora's voice disrupted her thoughts. "Do they fit?" she asked from the other side of the door. Rhea jogged back over to the door, throwing it back to show Cora, still uneasy in the never-been-worn garments. Cora clasped her hands together with satisfaction. "Perfect," she said, "now let's be off."

Cora turned and headed down the hall and into the elevator, Rhea slinking after her. She guessed the ensemble had cost more money than she'd ever had to her name at one time. How could Rufus claim to be evaluating her for relocation assistance and get away with giving her such lavish gifts? Rhea tapped her heel on the floor of the elevator as it ascended. She caught a glimpse of herself in the glare of the walls and scowled. Beautiful or not, she felt uncomfortable wearing something that was given to her out of charity.

The doors parted and Rhea stepped out into the busy 58th floor. It was wide and open, with large windows letting the midmorning light pour in. Several shops and cafes lined the interior, open to any W.R.O. employee wishing to take a load off. Benches circled around large planters filled with tropical plants and trees. Rhea smelled a flower on the way by one, never having seen anything but weeds in the slums.

"The President is waiting for you in Cafe Lumina," Cora said, leading the way to an escalator which took them up to the second level. They turned into the mentioned cafe and Cora flashed her badge to the hostess. The hostess nodded and let them pass to the back of the cafe. A line of tinted windows made up the back wall, and two navy-clad officers guarded the door to the exterior, a bald man and a blonde haired woman.

The bald guard stood forward when Cora approached and held out a small yellow wand. He ran it over Cora, then Rhea, listening to it squeak as he ran it over the piercing at her navel. He stood back. "They're clear," he muttered into his sleeve. After a pause, the blonde-haired woman pushed the door open to the balcony outside.

"Precaution," Cora explained as they passed through the door. "Security's been tight ever since the President returned to the public eye."

They walked a few feet before Cora stopped and motioned for Rhea to round the corner ahead. When she did, Rufus came into view, relaxing at a bistro table sheltered by a large shade sail. He was sipping from a cup of coffee. As Rhea approached, he set his gaze upon her. A slow, calculated smile came across his face when he noticed her attire.

"Good morning, Rhea," he said, motioning to the open seat across from him. Rhea sat. "I see you've accepted my gift."

Rhea tensed up. "Now listen here," she shot, leaning in close, "I don't like charity, especially not from people like you. So don't think for one second that you can buy me off—"

A small clink came from his cup as he sat it back on its saucer. His smile remained. "I'm sorry if you misunderstood," he said, reclining in his seat a bit. "I only ordered it because I assumed you hadn't packed for an overnight stay. You certainly don't have to accept it. Although I should say that it looks rather nice on you."

Rhea sat up straight, taken aback once again by his sharp retorts. He had even managed to slip in a compliment, however simple it was.

"Do you like coffee, Rhea? I'll get you some coffee."

Rhea did not even have time to reply before a server swept up behind her with a cup and saucer, filling it with warm, dark liquid from a carafe she held. Rhea only stared at it, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. She noticed a folder sitting beneath Rufus's coffee cup. She knew instantly what it meant and snapped her eyes back up to him. "I thought I was supposed to meet with the other president today," she said, a sharp edge to her tone.

Rufus nodded. "That meeting is scheduled for a bit later," he explained, pushing a small tray with cream and sugar toward her. "If we could, I'd like to continue our conversation from last night."

"What else is there to tell?" Rhea said, sinking back against her chair.

Rufus moved his cup, revealing the folder in full. "We spoke at length about your past last night," he said, opening the folder, "but I am more curious about your present—your life after the fall of Hydra."

Rhea crossed her arms defiantly. "I don't think you'll find those stories very interesting," she said.

"You'd be surprised," Rufus replied. He reached into his suit jacket and retrieved a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He pulled one out with his lips and offered the pack to Rhea. She eyed it skeptically. "Don't consider it charity," he said. She snatched one quickly and leaned forward to light it with the flame he struck. The smoke she inhaled felt like heaven in her lungs. She kept it there for a while before releasing it in a sigh.

Rufus lit his own cigarette and reclined again. The smile never left his face, not even while he dragged from his cigarette, though now it seemed softer somehow. Rhea was still unnerved by it. She knew this would be the perfect opportunity for him to pry into her secrets once again.

"What do you want to know?" she said, resigned to her fate.

"What happened after the attack?" Rufus asked, opening the folder. "Where did you go?"

"Nowhere, really," she replied. "I had no family, no friends. I thought my brother was dead. I was addicted to Mako. The slums were a dangerous place for anyone, let alone someone like me. I slept on the streets of Sector 5 for a while. The shop owners and innkeepers there let me do odd jobs for loose change. Whatever I earned went straight to buying Mako from the independent dealers. With Hydra gone, they got big for a while. They couldn't siphon big supplies of Mako, though. Not like Hydra could. And the Turks were always breathing down their necks."

Rhea paused to flick the ashes of her cigarette and take a drink of the now lukewarm coffee. Rufus waited patiently after he caught up with his notes, his smile replaced now with a stony gaze.

"And it was like that for a few years. People liked me in the slums because I stayed out of their business and looked after myself. But it wasn't enough to be liked down there. It was getting harder and harder to find Mako with the dealers slowly dying out or going out of business. Those that were left charged an arm and a leg because of the risks they had to take to get their hands on the stuff. I couldn't afford it anymore by just collecting scrap metal..."

Rhea trailed off and stared out over the balcony behind Rufus. There were big, flat-bottomed clouds forming on the horizon, whiter than cotton. It would probably storm later. Rhea felt her cigarette burn the tips of her fingers and she snapped back. Rufus was watching at her patiently.

"So what did you do?" Rufus's voice was low and quiet.

Rhea chewed on her lip. She had not meant to be so candid with her recollections this time around, but she had gotten carried away. She let her eyes linger on the clouds while she took another long drag of her cigarette. She then slipped her legs out from under the table and reached down to the hem of her dress, pulling it up several inches to reveal a long, ragged scar on her inner thigh. "This is where I was stabbed when I tried to keep my dealer from forcing himself on me."

Rufus stared at the scar, and continued staring even after she had pulled her dress back down. He avoided her eyes when she tucked her legs back beneath the table. Rhea despised the look of pity that had now crept into his usually steely features. Pity was almost worse than charity.

"I'm not proud of the things I've done," Rhea said. "But they're in the past now. I quit using after I almost lost my life to an addiction that I didn't even choose. But life was tough without Mako to lean on. The withdrawal made me completely useless. I couldn't work, so I had to live off of what people gave me. I hated it. But the temptation was gone soon. All of the Mako dealers were either killed off or went completely underground. After a few months of hell, I was finally free."

Rufus seemed to have regained some of his composure, though he still would not oblige her gaze. Rhea didn't mind. She had gotten used to being under his thumb—now it was the opposite.

Rufus cleared his throat. "And how long ago was this?" he said, turning his face down into the folder.

"Must be...over six years now," Rhea replied. "Once I could function again, I got a job with a Materia seller in Sector 5, but that wasn't a cake walk either. It wasn't long until the crisis struck. Meteor almost did us all in."

Rufus looked up from his notes and gave Rhea another worried look. "Is it true," she began, "that Shinra was behind Meteor?"

He had obviously not been prepared for the question. He sat up straight, shifted uneasily in his seat and searched for the right words for a long time. "It's complicated," he said at last, trying desperately to regain control of the conversation. "That is a story for another time."

Rhea smirked, amused at Rufus's discomfort. "I only say that because Reno once hinted that it was," she said. "He came to visit me just before Meteor struck. I don't know how he found me. I thought he had been dead for so long... I was so mad at him at first. For leaving me all alone like that while he was strutting around with the richest company in the world."

Rufus didn't seem offended by the comment and continued to scribble his notes. "What happened when Reno came to find you the first time?"

Rhea barked a short laugh, and Rufus looked up. "I almost killed him," she confessed, and Rufus knew she was being quite literal. "He came there to try and convince me to evacuate. The bastard had the balls to show his face after all those years just so he could pretend to save my life and then take credit for it. As if that would make up for leaving me to suffer alone in the slums, selling myself for the stuff we'd both depended on for half a decade." She wound her arm back and chucked her blunt cigarette over the balcony. "Asshole."

"I see," Rufus said. There was a tone of condescending to his voice, as if he didn't quite believe her. Still, he recorded everything she said with detail. He wrote for a bit while Rhea fumed, his eyes cast down and cigarette smoldering in his outstretched hand. When he finally looked up, Rhea's arms were crossed over her chest and she was glaring at him. He fought a smile.

"I think we're done for now," he said, closing the folder and clipping his pen to the top of it. He finished his cigarette and snuffed it in his empty coffee cup. Rhea grimaced.

"Well?" she said impatiently. "When am I meeting with President Tuesti?"

"Ah yes," Rufus began. "That meeting will take place tonight. He'll go over your case file and determine the correct course of action from here."

"Does that mean you're taking my case?" Rhea asked, her tone much less irritated.

"I can't promise anything," he replied, his voice sounding very recycled. He cleared his throat when Rhea gave him a distraught look. He then stood abruptly. "Well, why don't you take this…" he said, pulling out a black leather wallet from his back pocket, "and enjoy some breakfast. Then you can explore the headquarters and relax until tonight."

Rhea looked at the fresh, crisp 100Gil bill Rufus retrieved as if it were a stinking piece of meat. He pushed it at her. "It's not charity," he said with a smile. "I just noticed you didn't have your wallet with you."

Rhea continued to stare at it until she felt her stomach churn in emptiness. She'd gone hungry for days before, but it was hard to fight the feeling with the delicious scents of the café filling her nose. She snatched the money and crumpled it into her hand, looking away shamefully. "Thanks," she muttered.

"No need for thanks," he said, putting his wallet away and sliding his hands into his pants pockets. "You'll pay me back soon, I'm sure."

Rhea followed Rufus with her eyes as he gathered the folder, walked around the table and disappeared behind the corner of the building. She then unfolded the bill and stared at in wonder.


	3. Future: The Third Meeting

Rhea carefully unwrapped the scone she'd taken to go from the café, smelling its sweet frosting and crumbling layers before taking a slow, deliberate bite. It all but melted in her mouth, its chocolate filling tasting wonderfully bitter on her tongue. She could not remember ever having eaten anything so decadent, though she liked to imagine she had a scone like this every morning for breakfast when she was a child. She ate until there was nothing but crumbs left resting on her stomach and the sheets around her, laughing shamefully at herself. She had already eaten a full plate of eggs and bacon at the café, along with two cups of coffee with cream and sugar, and the scone was now making its way to join them in her satisfied stomach.

Rhea had been conflicted about spoiling herself to such extremes, especially on Rufus's dime, but the pang of guilt was well worth it. She still had over half the Gil left, and she pulled out the crumpled bills to count them. She would be able to survive for several months on a stipend like this, and for a moment she considered just taking the money, the new dress and shoes, and leaving the building without looking back. But those pangs of guilt held her back. Rhea was someone who always settled her debts, big or small. She wouldn't be able to live with herself knowing she had sunk to such levels.

Rhea brushed the crumbs from her stomach and placed them carefully in the scone's empty wrapper. She tossed it in the trash on the way to the balcony, instead picking up her cigarettes and the lighter Rufus had given her—another thing she would have to return at some point. She turned it over in her hands before she lit her cigarette. It must have been solid gold by how heavy it felt, and it was engraved with the letters RS and the Shinra logo. Rhea imagined it was very special to Rufus, but she guessed he had a whole stash of lighters just like it, judging by how fast he gave it up. She struck the flint and lit her cigarette.

The sun was hidden behind the tall building across from her, but its warm red rays still sprayed upward into the sky. Rhea guessed it was already nearing evening, having spent most of the day exploring the floors of the W.R.O. headquarters. Most of the floors with visitor access were just lounges or mini-malls, but she enjoyed perusing them anyway, finally given the chance to stretch her legs after an awkward 24 hours. Each floor had every restaurant under the sun, and stores containing fine clothes and jewelry Rhea could only admire from afar.

While the world had come a long way from its haggard state during the Meteor crisis, Rhea was still surprised at the disparity of wealth in the city. Some people still sustained themselves by scrounging for scrap metal and selling illegal weapons, while others were living lives of luxury as stock brokers or businesspeople. She liked to believe the W.R.O. was taking steps to close that gap, but progress was incredibly slow. Some of her neighbors had applied for relocation assistance over a year ago and had only heard from a representative once in that time. Once again, Rhea felt a pang of guilt about sleeping in silks and dining on fine meals while half the city suffered in silence.

She had just finished her cigarette when a soft knock sounded at the door. Cora once again announced her presence, and Rhea crossed the room to answer her. She opened the door and Cora smiled brightly, as usual. "The Presidents are ready for you, Miss Flynnt," she announced.

Rhea nodded lightly, her heart suddenly pushing against her chest in alarm. She had not given the meeting much thought on her lazy day off, but now that it was looming in front of her, Rhea became determinably anxious.

"Shall we go?" Cora asked, sensing Rhea's hesitance.

Rhea exhaled sharply to settle her nerves and forced a half-hearted smile. "Sure."

She left the suite and followed Cora and her lively steps to the elevator. Rhea wasn't exactly certain why she was more nervous now than she had been to meet Rufus Shinra. It was perhaps because she had not expected to meet him at all—she'd had no time to be nervous between entering the W.R.O. headquarters yesterday and shaking his hand a few moments after. There was also the fact that President Tuesti was more than just a figurehead to the W.R.O. as Rufus had been, but rather the true and acting man of power. He would have the final say in the fate of her near future.

"Don't be nervous," Cora whispered, and Rhea noticed that she had been watching her as the elevator climbed. "President Tuesti is a very kind man." Rhea wondered why Cora had chosen now to speak to her, to offer words of advice, when she had been so reticent up until then.

Her musings were interrupted by the ding of the elevator as it opened to reveal the same wine-colored, softly-lit hallway she'd entered the night before. They stopped at the mahogany doors, and Cora buzzed them in again. The voice that responded was deeper, more astute than Rufus's.

"Please, send her in."

The door popped open and Cora pushed it back for Rhea to pass through. She crossed the threshold and stood in the foyer on shaking legs.

As soon as she entered, the two men sitting in the lounge stood abruptly, one dressed in white, Rufus obviously, the other in blue. He had long black hair and a clean, trimmed beard. He strode ahead of Rufus, but Rhea had no confidence to walk out and meet him.

He slowed his gait as he neared her, extending his hand.

"Rhea," he said, as if he'd known her all his life. "It's so nice to finally see you."

Rhea slipped her hand into his, feeling him cup and shake it softly, as if he were trying to hold water in his palm. She was not used to being treated so kindly.

"Mr. President," she said in reply, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Please, call me Reeve," he said. He motioned back to the lounge, where Rufus was standing patiently, hands in pockets. "Come sit."

She obliged, following him back to the center of the room where she carefully stepped down into the lounge and took her place on the sofa across from the men. She tucked her dress under her legs politely, as if she had known how to be a lady since the day she was born. Or perhaps she never really forgot.

"So, Rhea," Reeve began, folding his hands together as he leaned back in his chair. "Do you mind if I call you Rhea?" She nodded. "I'm sorry, it's just that I haven't seen you since you were a child."

Rhea suddenly turned her head to Rufus. He was reclined in his seat, smiling behind a hand resting on his chin. She turned back to Reeve, who was also smiling, though his had a bright twinkle to it.

"That's right," he said. "I knew your mother. She was my mentor in the early days of Midgar's construction. I only met you once when she brought you and your brother into the office, and I was very young at the time. You couldn't have been more than 5 years old." Rhea's expression softened as Reeve spoke about her early life, embarrassed that she could not remember ever meeting him, or the Shinra building at all. She pursed her lips. "I took over as head of the Urban Planning Division after her untimely death. I owe most of my life to her."

Rhea was silent as she took in this new information. She had never really thought much about her mother in the years after her death; Mako made her forget many things. She remembered snippets here and there—her mother's embrace when she fell and scraped her knees, or the feeling of a home-cooked meal sitting in her stomach as she lay on the floor watching TV after dinner. But most of it was gone. She couldn't remember her first day of school, or what her bedroom looked like. She couldn't even remember her mother's voice.

Rufus cleared his throat to end the silence, and Rhea sat upright. "Thank you," was all she could muster to say to Reeve, suddenly envious that his memories of her family were probably clearer than her own.

"Yes, she was a wonderful woman," Reeve continued. "And that's why we agreed to take your case when Reno came to us for help. It is unfair that he was able to escape the fate you suffered after your liberation from Hydra. Had he known you were alive…" Reeve trailed off, suddenly leaning up. Rhea then noticed a folder was laid across the low table between them. He opened it. "Anyway," he continued. "I've gone over your case file and we've decided you are the perfect candidate for our relocation program."

Rhea felt the news a hollow victory with her mind still half-occupied by thoughts of her estranged family. She put a smile on her lips to at least show her appreciation. "That's wonderful," she said, her voice still quiet as a mouse's. "When do I move?"

Rufus suddenly chimed in. "Well, it's not exactly that simple," he said. "You see, there is a contract to be signed before any assistance can take place."

Rhea eyed him. "What kind of contract?"

"It's pretty simple," Rufus replied. "But it requires that you take on studies for a new occupation so that you can one day pay for your living expenses on your own."

"Studies?" Rhea asked.

Reeve suddenly turned the folder toward her. "We've compiled a list of jobs we think might be suitable for your skill sets," he explained, "though if you think of something else, we might be able to consider it."

Rhea looked at the paper, but she didn't really read anything that was printed on it. "You mean… I'll have to stop working at the Materia shop?"

"Well," said Reeve, his voice gentle, "we think these jobs will be better suited to support your new lifestyle. And each occupation is in high demand for restoration purposes. We all need to work together to bring the planet back to its former glory."

Rhea looked from Reeve to Rufus, then back to Reeve. She had trouble processing this contingency, this idea that the direction of her life was now out of her hands. But, as she stared at the paper, she realized she'd never given it much thought before now. She had always just assumed she'd work at the Materia shop for the rest of her life, returning home to the same flea-infested apartment and walking the same mud-lined streets, day in and day out. She wondered how she had ever been content with that life. Rhea had never expected her existence would ever make a difference in the world, or that she'd even get the chance to, like her mother once had. But perhaps it wasn't too late to try.

Rhea scanned the list of occupations while Rufus and Reeve stared her down. There were mostly generic public service jobs—school teacher or social worker, safety commissioner or personal assistant. She couldn't see herself standing in front of a group of first graders and asking them to recite their ABC's, nor could imagine being satisfied fetching coffee for an arrogant businessman. Suddenly, she looked up at Rufus and Reeve. They were both watching her patiently.

"What about the Turks?" she blurted.

They looked at each other as if they had expected her to say it, but uncomfortable frowns still nagged at the corners of their mouths. Reeve leaned forward. "I don't think that's going to be possible," he said.

"Why not?" Rhea asked. "I'm strong and I can fight. I can do anything Reno can do."

"Well, it's just that…" Reeve continued. "It's just—"

"Reno specifically requested you not join the force," Rufus finished for him.

Rhea crossed her arms. "Of course he did," she snorted. "What gives him the right to do that? I haven't seen him in years, and he still tries to control my life. How is that fair?"

"I'm very sorry, Rhea," Reeve said, "but Reno had it written in the contract before we took on your case. I'm afraid there's no room for debate."

"Spineless bastard," she hissed. "And he's not even here to tell me face-to-face. I should be allowed to make my own decisions. If not, what was the point of coming here?"

"You can still choose from the list," Reeve encouraged.

Rhea fought back the urge to send curses flying through the room. It was insane that even after over ten years, Reno was still able to twist the knife. She wanted to hate him. Had she been able to join the Turks, she would have hunted him down herself. Her foot tapped wildly on the cold marble floor, sending loud _click clicks_ through the air.

Rufus and Reeve looked at her with perturbed stares, and Rhea fought to calm herself down. She did not want to seem like a bratty child throwing a tantrum after not getting her way. She exhaled sharply and unfolded her arms, sitting up straight as an arrow.

"I'd like to be a healer," she said at last, pushing the folder back toward Reeve. "I know it's not on the list, but it's what I want." Rhea had never given the occupation any thought before, but it was the only one she could think of that would satisfy her sudden desire to serve. It was ridiculous for her to assume that her family would still be alive had a healer been present when they were attacked, but Rhea wanted to take steps to prevent tragedies like that from ever happening again. Healer was the next rung down from cleaning up the streets herself as a Turk.

Rufus and Reeve exchanged glances one more time. When Reeve turned back to her, an uneasy smile crept across his features. "I…think we can work with that," he said at last, pulling the folder back into him. "It's certainly more applicable than the ones we had picked out for you. There is always a need for healers. Rufus?"

Rufus eyed Rhea for a moment, surprised at the choice she had made. "It's fine with me," he said at last, without so much as a glance at Reeve. He kept his eyes locked on her and his smile as enigmatic as ever.

"Well, it's settled then," Reeve announced, closing the folder. "I'll have my associates draw up the papers and start contacting the appropriate programs. We'll have your new arrangements set up within the week."

Rhea smiled genuinely for the first time that night, though there was now a hint of smugness in it. She stood proudly, Rufus and Reeve quickly following suit. "Thank you, gentlemen," she said, extending her hand for a shake. She barely recognized her own voice speaking such strange words and her body making such confident movements. She had come into the room with knocking knees, and now she was leaving with her head held high.


	4. Intentions

AN: Long chapter! Things are starting to take shape now. Please review. I really enjoy writing these but your feedback will keep me excited about it.

* * *

It had been three days after her meeting with President Tuesti before Rhea heard news of her case. Cora had checked in on her at least once a day during that time, seeing to it that she received any food and provisions she needed. She had given Rhea a cell phone to use if she needed anything, but Rhea hadn't even turned it on yet. Cora had also arranged for Rhea the chance to go home and collect any things of value to be relocated to her new residence. She had been able to carry all of her valuables in one trip. They were now laid out in the suite on the bed beside her: a small bag of clothing, a winter cloak, her collection of Materia, and a leather pouch filled with knives and other weaponry. She'd had to get special permission from Rufus's office before they could be brought into the building.

Also strewn among the pitiful pile was a tiny wooden chest—a music box she'd found while digging through scrap heaps years ago. She had kept it with her after her recovery as a reminder of her struggles. Inside she kept a stash of small things she'd found in the slums—jewelry, coins, scraps of photographs. None of these things had any particular significance to her, but she imagined they had once belonged to those that had perished in the fall of Meteor. Rhea felt they needed to be preserved.

On her way home, Rhea stopped in at the Materia shop to say goodbye to Paddy, her former employer. The old man was sad to see her go, but gave her his best wishes. Rhea had offered to put in a request for him at the W.R.O., but Paddy vehemently protested.

"I'm old," he'd said. "Let the young ones have a chance. The ones with futures ahead of them." Rhea didn't like to think of Paddy as having no future. He'd built a respectable life for himself, selling only legitimately-harvested Materia, a business he had started when he was very young. She was thankful for his kindness in taking her in off the street when she was bedridden with Mako withdrawals, after so many doors had been slammed in her face.

Before she left his shop for the last time, Paddy gave Rhea one of his most coveted pieces of Materia—a high-level Restore that he'd had since he was a child.

"I used it on you when you were shivering in pain those first few weeks," he confessed to her as he clasped the sphere in her hand. "I like to think it gave you some peace." Rhea smiled a bittersweet smile and accepted the Materia without hesitation. She knew it would have been disrespectful to refuse such a wonderful gift.

Rhea was turning the bright green sphere over in her hand when a knock sounded at the door. She laid the Materia on the silk sheets beside her before rising to answer it. When she swung the door open, she let out an audible gasp when, instead of Cora as she'd been expecting, Rufus appeared in front of her.

Rufus fought a smile. "I'm sorry," he said. "Did I frighten you?"

"No," Rhea lied, standing up straight. "It's just, I was expecting…"

"Cora, I know," Rufus finished. "I actually do some things on my own, you know."

"Of course," Rhea said, staring dumbly at him. He was looking behind her into the suite. She suddenly jumped and stood aside. "Oh, I'm sorry. Come in."

Rufus strode inside and Rhea let the door close behind him. He slid his hands into his pants pockets and looked around slowly, inspecting the small pile of personal belongings she'd brought along.

"Are these all of your things?"

"Yeah," Rhea replied, embarrassed. "I was going to send along some of my furniture, but Cora said I'd be getting all new stuff… It was mostly junk anyway."

Rufus nodded, approaching her bed with a leisurely gait. He reached out and took the Restore Materia into his hand, and Rhea tensed. "Restore," he said matter-of-factly. "Good. You're required to have at least one piece for your coursework."

Rhea stepped up behind him, watching him turning the sphere lightly with his fingertips. "About that," she began. "When do I start this whole…process?"

Rufus exhaled and placed the Materia back on the bed, turning back to her. "That's what I've come here to discuss. The contract for your new apartment has just gone through. You can move in today, and your healer coursework begins at the start of the new week."

Rhea's eyebrows shot up. She was expecting to be stuck in this suite for at least a few weeks before everything was finalized. She guessed the direct connection to both presidents had sped up that process quite a bit.

"Today?" she asked. "How am I going to get there?"

"Well, I was going to charter you some transportation," said Rufus, "but since you don't have many things, I could take you myself. I mean, if you don't mind, of course."

Rhea was unsure if the comment about her possessions was supposed to be an insult. She crossed her arms and eyed him suspiciously. "That would be fine, I guess."

"Great." Rufus turned his back to her briefly, pulled out a razor-thin phone and dialed. "Cora, have Rude bring the car around. Yes. Thank you." When he turned back around, he pocketed the device and headed toward her bed. There, he gathered up her sack of clothes and slung it over her shoulder. "Shall we?"

Rhea, surprised to see him helping, swept in to carry her more fragile possessions. She followed him out of the suite and down the hall to the elevator. It was a quiet ride. Rhea gazed at Rufus in the reflection of the glass. His brow was knit to shield his eyes from the glare of the sun as he looked out over the city below. She suddenly felt very small in his presence, holding her jumbled group of valuables while he surveyed his most prized possession—Edge.

Unlike everyone else on the planet, it seemed, Rhea had no particular feelings toward Rufus and the Shinra Company. She harbored only ill will toward her brother, who happened to be employed by them. And while Shinra had been blamed for nearly every catastrophe to strike since they took power, those times were over. Wasn't Rufus doing everything he could to atone for those mistakes? No longer did his funds go toward terrorism or Mako energy. And here he was, on his way to the new home he'd helped find for her, carrying her things in his own two hands.

The elevator flew open and they stepped out into a dark parking garage. A few feet away, Rude, the bald Turk, stood stoically beside a blacked-out sedan. As they approached, he opened the trunk, into which Rufus and Rhea placed her belongings. Rude opened the back door for them to enter, then closed it and climbed in the driver's side. He started the ignition, and the car slowly pulled out of the garage and away from the W.R.O. headquarters. Rhea watched it through the heavily tinted windows, the glare of the sun on the building still as bright as ever. Her life had changed in that building, and while a flutter of excitement stirred in her stomach, she was nervous about her future. It had all happened so fast, and so few of the decisions made were her own. Was this truly in her best interest?

Rhea turned her head to Rufus, who was smiling idly has he flipped through his phone, checking messages and responding to them. She was surprised that someone as busy as him had time to play chauffer.

The silence pressed down, and Rhea searched for something to break it with. She had not felt compelled to converse with him before now, but something nagged at her then. "Rufus?" she asked. His name, which she had not spoken since their first meeting, felt strange on her tongue. He looked up immediately, turning his attention to her. "Where has Reno been this past week?"

Rufus took a deep breath, and Rhea watched his chest rise and fall as he considered the question. "He's been on leave," he said at last. "Personal leave."

"And I suppose you can't tell me what for?"

"I don't believe it'd be quite right for me to divulge that information," Rufus replied. "But I can certainly put you in contact with him if you'd like."

Rhea took a moment to let those words sink in. She could call her brother if she wanted. The brother she hadn't spoken to in five years. The brother who was still controlling her life from some unknown location, pretending as if he cared for her wellbeing. Suddenly, she noticed the Turk's eyes gazing at her in the rearview mirror. They were shaded behind a pair of gray sunglasses, but she felt them on her. She turned her head quickly toward the window again.

"No, thanks."

It wasn't much longer before the car slowed to a stop on a street lined with tall brick buildings. As Rhea stepped out onto the curb, she realized they were apartment complexes, all beautifully alike with simple, flat exteriors, one small window and a wrought-iron balcony on each unit. Each building was at least five stories high with five units on each floor. There were no other structures on the street. Rhea let her eyes trail up and down the rows of apartments until she heard the trunk pop open. Rufus was shouldering her bags again. She moved to help and saw Rude reaching in to grab her music box. She intercepted him.

"I'll get this," she said, cradling the fragile thing.

The Turk glared at her from behind his shades, instead lifting her sack of Materia and weapons into his arms. He closed the trunk.

Rufus was walking toward one of the buildings with purpose, and Rhea skittered after him. He led the way into the lobby. It was relatively plain, with dull fluorescent lighting and off-white linoleum tiles. The walls were made of painted cement blocks. The hall led forward for several feet before it came to an end, instead stretching out on either side, all lined with doors. In front of them sat the elevator into which they soon entered. Rufus pressed the key to the fifth floor.

In a moment they had arrived, and Rufus once again set off in a swift gait. It worried Rhea a bit that he had memorized the location of her now home before she had even set foot in it. Still, she reminded herself that her situation wasn't typical.

As they were walking, a tenant emerged from her apartment, a phone pressed to her ear, chatting idly. She did a double take as they neared her and stopped talking mid-sentence. Rufus gave her a polite nod and a smile as they passed. Rhea hid her face.

Rufus soon stopped abruptly in front of a door that was tacked with the number "513." He retrieved a small rectangular keycard from his pocket, which he handed to Rhea.

"This is now your most important possession," he said. "It not only acts as a key to your apartment, but it will also be loaded with your monthly stipend until you start earning your own money. You can use it anywhere in the city. Keep it with you at all times."

Rhea nodded several times before she accepted the keycard. It felt heavy in her hand, even though it was made of lightweight aluminum. Rufus motioned toward a black box mounted beside the door. Rhea stepped up to it and swiped her card in front of it; the door popped open. Nervously, Rhea stepped into her new home for the first time.

It was quite plain, but beautifully so. Everything had a soft dullness to it, as if the whole room and everything in it had just been covered in a fresh coat of paint and hadn't dried yet. It smelled like nothing inside—just lukewarm air. There was a kitchen directly to the left and a living room beyond that, where a small TV and a gray couch sat untouched. There was a sliding glass door to the right of the television, letting in the warm glow of the setting sun. Adjacent to the living room was a door that led to the bedroom. Rhea walked toward it.

"That will be all we need, Rude," Rufus said to the Turk. "You can wait outside." He placed her things on the floor of the kitchen and obliged.

Rhea pushed open the door to the bedroom. The blinds on the window were drawn, so she turned on the light, washing the room in brightness. There was a medium-sized bed on the wall opposite with a nightstand and another lamp beside it. On the wall next to her there was a simple brown dresser with a large mirror on top of it. Rhea carefully placed her music box on it before venturing further into the room. On the fourth and final wall lay two more doors. One led to a small bathroom with a stall-style shower and a sink and toilet with plumbing exposed. The second door opened to reveal a closet, and Rhea's heart sank as she realized it was stocked with brand new clothes. She ran her hand along them.

"This really is too much," she said softly to Rufus, who had just placed her things down at the edge of the bed.

He smiled absentmindedly. "It's the same as all of our other apartments."

"But the clothes…?"

"Most of them are needed for your coursework," he explained, though Rhea could hardly imagine why. "The only thing I pulled some strings for is the view. Come on."

Rufus strode out to the living room and threw open the glass door, revealing a breathtaking expanse. Almost every mile of Edge was visible, with the exception of anything in the shadow of the W.R.O. building. The crumbled remains of Midgar lay even further in the distance, all alight with orange streaks of sunlight. Rhea lowered her head shamefully. She hardly felt deserving of such a place. "It's lovely," she said softly.

Rufus sensed her reservation. "It's really not all that special," he said in an attempt to comfort her. "Actually, I tried to build these complexes to a higher standard at first, but…we didn't have the means to."

Rhea cast him a sidelong glance, leaning on the sun-warmed rails of the balcony. Ever since Shinra had come out publicly as the financier for the W.R.O., there had been mixed responses from the public. Some wanted nothing to do with the company they believed to be inherently evil; others had lofty expectations for the richest organization on the planet. Rhea suddenly fathomed the insane amount of stress that Rufus must have endured on a daily basis.

"Why _did _you decide to do it?" she asked suddenly. "I mean, to take on all of this? The W.R.O., Edge, pulling out of Mako energy…"

Rufus let out a short, cynical laugh and turned around, leaning backward against the balcony and casting his eyes up the side of the apartment complex. "One of the first things my father told me about business is that there will always be those who are rich and those who are poor," he said. "I never thought to question that lesson until after Meteor fell, and it suddenly didn't matter who had money and who didn't. My wealth was not going to save me anymore than it would the next person. In the aftermath, I witnessed the richest and the poorest citizens working side by side in the dirt and dust, helping each other rebuild some semblance of civilization. I witnessed the company my father had built up over decades come crumbling down in an instant. I…I suppose I felt it would be a waste to let what wealth I had left go back into recreating such a virulent and ineffectual empire."

Rhea did not speak after he'd finished. She didn't feel it was quite right for her to comment on such dignified ideals when she had spent nearly half her life scraping by in the slums. Still, the tangible sincerity in Rufus's voice reassured her. Though she was incredibly unsure about her new life, Rhea was now beginning to trust the man who'd gotten her there.

When the silence had done its work, Rhea pushed herself off the railing and headed inside. Rufus, curious, followed her into the bedroom where she had lifted the cover of her music box. It played a few out-of-tune notes before she closed it. When she turned to him, she was holding a small wad of Gil.

"Here," she said. "It's all there. Thank you for letting me borrow it." Rhea had replaced the missing money from her small collection of savings. She felt strange returning it when she was now standing in nothing more than another gift from Rufus. Still, she handed it over proudly.

Rufus's thin lips curled into a sly but genuine smile. He took the money carefully and folded it away into his wallet. "No need for thanks," he said casually. "I knew you'd take good care of it." He meandered back into the main room and slid his hands into his pockets. "Well, I'm afraid I have to get going. You'll have everything you need for your coursework delivered by Monday." He headed toward the door. "If you need anything else," he said, turning toward her with his hand resting on the handle, "anything at all…just call."

Rhea looked at him for a moment before giving him a slow nod. He smiled and threw the door open. "Good-bye Rhea. I hope I get to see you again soon."

The door slowly inched closed, Rufus's footsteps padding softly down the hall and out of earshot.

* * *

Rhea hadn't slept more than an hour the night before her first day of healer training. Before she'd gone to bed, she'd gotten a visit from a W.R.O. rep, who delivered the rest of her supplies—Heal and Seal Materia, a small set of curative potions, and a large textbook. The rep was pleasant enough, but she found herself disappointed it had not been Rufus at the door. When she was alone again, she suddenly became restless. Why had her thoughts turned to Rufus as soon as she answered the door? And why had they not left him even after the representative had gone?

Now, as she sat in the lecture hall listening to the instructor drone on about potions, these thoughts haunted her. The night before, she had lain in bed with her eyes locked on the Restore Materia where it rested on her nightstand. In its swirling depths, she pictured Rufus's smile—the way the corners of his mouth turned up only ever so slightly, leaving the defined curve of his upper lip perfectly still. She imagined the subtle flex of his temple as he clenched his teeth. When she finally fell into what she thought might be sleep, she had dreamt about him—about his deep, condescending laughter, about his expressionless eyebrows, about the sinew in his neck—until the blare of her alarm shot her upright.

"Miss Flynnt?" An astute voice broke her daydream. "Perhaps you would care to answer the question?"

Rhea's heart thumped as she looked nervously around the room. All the eyes had been turned on her.

Suddenly, someone hissed at her from the row behind: "Ether."

Rhea stammered for a moment.

"The answer is ether!" the voice whispered again.

Rhea cleared her throat. "Ether?" she said with a tone of uncertainty in her voice.

The instructor, a thin, severe older woman, gave her a sour look. "Correct," she said. "Though perhaps next time you won't need any assistance from your neighbors."

Rhea hung her head as the teacher turned her attention elsewhere.

"That concludes the lesson for today," she eventually announced. The class began to stir and pack their things. "Read page eighteen to forty-five in your book for tomorrow, and bring your Restore Materia."

Rhea made for the exit with the flow of students, but at the last minute the instructor flagged her down. "Now Miss Flynnt," she said with a stern tone as Rhea approached. "I am aware of the unique circumstances under which you have come here, but let me assure you, your relationship to the Shinra Corporation will win you no special treatment in my course. I expect the same effort from you as I do any of my other students."

Rhea flushed with shame. "Yes ma'am," she said through half-gritted teeth. "I understand."

The woman gave her a look of approval. "Good. Now hurry along," she said, but when Rhea had reached the door, she called out to her again. "And good luck, Miss Flynnt. You're obviously going to need it."

* * *

When Rhea returned to her apartment, it no longer had the pleasant glow of newness about it. Instead, it felt like a finely decorated cage into which she had been backed, complete with wrought iron bars and a bullet-proof lock. She felt as though she were always wandering through the rooms with the lights off, feeling her way through the new amenities like a child. However, the worst thing about it was not its unfamiliarity, but rather the fact that her thoughts did not seem to be her own here. Her mind was no longer occupied with the basic routines of her old life—would her shower work in the morning? Would she be stalked on the way to work? Would she have to choose between food for the week or rent to be paid? Now, her head buzzed with thoughts of potion recipes, cure spells, and…Rufus. He never seemed to leave her mind, even though he hadn't contacted her in days. It bothered her.

Rhea cast aside her books and sauntered through her apartment, touching everything she passed in an attempt to make them hers. She ran her fingers along the tweed cushions of the couch before she sank down into it, taking the small remote from the coffee table in front of her. She flipped the TV on and kicked off her boots, resting her heels on the edge of the table.

The first station that popped up was the W.R.O. advertising network. There was talk of new oil fields being discovered on the plains around Fort Condor, but the story did not interest her. She continued to scan the channels, passing by pointless reality shows and soap operas. Suddenly, her finger froze. There, displayed on the bright screen five feet away, was her own face. The photograph depicted her leaning over her balcony, with Rufus at her side, his face turned away. Rhea covered her mouth to stifle a gasp. She stared at the photo until it faded into the background and a reporter appeared on the screen.

"I'm standing on the same street where, earlier today, this woman was spotted being ushered into an apartment complex personally by President Shinra. Sources say she may be living in this building, which was built to house those relocated by the W.R.O. This leads us to believe she may have once lived in the slums. But what is her connection to the Shinra Company? Where does she fit in with the politics and business of the W.R.O.? Stay tuned to our celebrity gossip segment to find out what our experts think. For the _Nightly Buzz_, I'm Lisa King."

Rhea stared at the screen with wide eyes and an open mouth long after it had changed to a commercial about shampoo. Her face had just been broadcast for all of Edge to see—maybe even further. Her breath suddenly hitched with a mixture of panic and anger. Her privacy had been trodden on in a way she had never even imagined it might be, and she had no idea how she could stop it from happening again. Would there soon be press camped outside her apartment building? Would she be followed on the way to school, or recognized in grocery stores?

Suddenly, her heart jumped at the sound of a harsh ringing coming from her knapsack. Rhea hurried to it and retrieved the source of the nose: the cell phone Cora had given to her. The screen was alight with Rufus's name. She picked it up.

"Rhea?" came a steady voice from the other end. She did not answer. "I've just been informed of…of an unfortunate broadcast—"

"I've already seen it," she interjected, her voice tight and harsh as a drum. There was a beat of silence.

"I'm very sorry," Rufus said. His voice remained calm despite the undertone of worry. "I didn't expect something like that to happen. It wasn't part of the plan."

Rhea balled her free hand into a fist. "Plan?!" she spat, her voice a near shout. "What plan? Are you sure you even had one at all? I sure as hell wasn't included in it, if that's what you mean."

More silence. Rhea was pacing now, her fingers digging into her palm. The speaker buzzed with the sound of Rufus exhaling.

"I'm sorry you feel that way," he said slowly; deliberately. "It certainly wasn't my intention."

Rhea was getting tired of the recycled responses. She released an irritated scoff. "What exactly _was _your intention then?"

"To help," he said. Rhea was surprised at the concise response. She had been expecting another apology. "I know it might not seem like that right now. You have to realize I never meant for any of this to happen. It's not often I get involved personally with any of the cases we take on." He paused, his inflection turning suddenly soft. "I was just trying to look after you."

Rhea fought back a squall of emotions as he spoke. She didn't want to believe what he was saying—it was easier to remain angry so that she would have somewhere to place the blame, but it was not that simple. She had not considered the choices he had made to get her here. It had not occurred to her that Rufus could have passed off her case to a representative—could have distanced himself from the whole process. But he hadn't. He'd chosen to walk her through it every step of the way, and even now, when she was all but settled into her new life, he remained. She was simply uncertain about whether or not she wanted him there.

"Rhea?"

She closed her eyes at the sound of his voice and cleared her throat to tell him she was still there.

"I'm going to fix it," he said. "I'll do my best to make it right."

Rhea was silent for a long time. In the reflection of the sliding door, she once again pictured Rufus standing tall, his proud head held still as a statue. She opened her mouth slowly, but before she had a chance to say any more, the line went dead.


	5. Father Figure

AN: Two chapters in one day! Hope you enjoy them both.

* * *

Rufus stood on his balcony as quiet and still as he ever had. He only moved to bring his cigarette to his lips and breathe, his eyes following the trails of smoke as they floated up into the bruised night sky. His tie was loosened and his dress shirt unbuttoned to let the breeze blow across his throat. He rarely took the time to enjoy such silence, always preferring to keep himself busy, keep himself useful. But today had been particularly raucous. He needed the feel of the wind blowing through the hollow city below. He needed nothingness.

The long and sweltering summer day had been spent covering up the mess he'd caused by escorting Rhea to her new home. He'd had Cora leak some more tempting news to the press in an attempt to throw them off, but it only put a bandage on the wound. The real suturing had occurred at a press conference he'd returned from only an hour ago. In his mind, he could still hear the shutters of the cameras going off like machine gun fire. When he closed his eyes, the glare of the spotlights still shone before his lids. It had been years since he'd been nervous before a press conference, but this one felt different. He knew there would be whispers about Rhea poised on the reporters' lips, and he would have to fight to quell them.

The purpose of the conference had been to discuss the recent discovery of oil fields outside Fort Condor. Though the discover was officially W.R.O. business, Reeve much preferred to stay out of the public eye, making Rufus the clear choice to deal with the press.

The first twenty minutes of the press conference had gone as planned. He announced the discovery of the oil fields and assuaged any fears about environmental effects. The first few questions were pertinent to the topic, but he had known it would only be a matter of time. Sure enough, the tabloid reporter forced her way to the front of the pack.

"Mr. President!" she'd shouted, quieting the crowd. "What can you tell us about the woman you were seen with recently?"

Rufus had wanted to dismiss her, as he would have done with any other gossip question, but the room had gone silent in the wake of her words. He thought of Rhea, about the sharp tone of hurt in her voice, and reminded himself that she was counting on him to look after her.

"She is part of the W.R.O.'s relocation project," he'd said simply. He had every intention of continuing, but words would not come to him.

"Then why are you handling it?" the reporter pressed.

Rufus looked hard at her, his brow set with determination. "She is the sister of one of our employees," he continued. "I have elected to oversee her case as a personal favor. But that's all I can say; I must respect her privacy."

The room had erupted with more questions: who was the employee? Was she getting special treatment? Was he involved romantically with her?"

Rufus had tried to answer the questions, but the noise was deafening. "Please, I'm here to talk about the oil fields—"

In a moment, Elena had swept in and handed him off to Rude. "That's all the president has time for today," she said brightly. "Please direct all other questions to the press secretary at the W.R.O. building…"

Rufus took a deep drag of his cigarette as he thought about the day's events. Though there would be a buzz about the story for many days, he hoped his explanation had been enough. At the very least, he had told the truth, and he hoped Rhea would respect him for that.

He thought for a long time about the repercussions of his actions—of taking on Rhea's case and handling it so closely. He thought about his choice to interview her, to get to know her, and the neglect of exposing himself to the press so carelessly. The worst thing about it all was not the unwanted attention, but rather the fact that he would need to refrain from seeing her again. It pained him to admit that he had grown to care for her. He saw her as a wounded animal—a victim of her environment, of forces far beyond her control. But he reminded himself that she was far from a fragile creature. Even a wounded animal can bite the hand that feeds it.

* * *

Rhea walked home in silence. The day's class had been extended an extra three hours for a test on the properties of curative solutions. By the time she finished, the sun had already sunk down below the horizon, leaving only a purple glow in the haze that hung above the city. The air was dead today. Even in the evening hours, the heat remained, pressing down on her skin and bringing a thin film of perspiration to her forehead. She was looking forward to a cold glass of water when she arrived home.

It had been five days since Rufus's press conference, and while she hadn't been thrilled with the way he'd handled it, it seemed as though the buzz was slowly dying down. She had to leave earlier for class and return home later in an attempt to avoid reporters, but so far it was working. With the heat off of her back, she'd finally had a chance to focus on her studies, which were steadily improving. Even her lingering thoughts of Rufus were beginning to dissipate.

Rhea took a sharp turn into an alley—a shortcut home—and shifted her knapsack on her shoulder. The skin of her back breathed briefly, causing her hair to bristle on end. The exit to the alley was just coming in sight when she heard the clinking of chains and footsteps behind her. She froze as two dark figures blocked the light at the end of the alleyway. The footsteps behind approached her slowly; she turned to look upon who they belonged to.

She did not recognize the man—he was tall and lanky with disheveled hair, dirt smeared on his cheeks, and a twisted expression on his face. He was carrying a thick metal chain.

"Well, well," he said in a raspy tone. "She's prettier than the boss made her out to be. Ain't she boys?"

The men behind her had closed in as well. Rhea stood taller. "What do you want with me?" she asked in a loud, steady voice. "I don't have any money, if that's what you're after."

The lanky man shook his head. "Nope. We just wanna play, don't we boys?"

His lackeys laughed. Rhea suddenly realized she wasn't going to be able to talk her way out of it. The man in front of her wrapped the chain around his knuckles; the two behind her brandished a bat and a pipe.

She wasn't prepared for the first or second swing of the chain, having to twist herself sideways against the alley's wall to avoid it. She swung her knapsack out to catch the third blow, wrapping the chain in its straps. She pulled it from the gangster's grasp and threw it away. Suddenly, the man with the bat swung at her—she sank down and heard it crack against the brick wall above her head. She wound her fist back and punched hard in the attacker's ribcage. The air hissed out of his lungs and he fell back. The third gangster jabbed at her with his metal pipe, and she dodged it until she was backed against the opposite wall of the alley.

Rhea was now far enough away to be able to reach down into her boot and retrieve the small blade that was strapped there. She brandished the knife at the three gangsters, swiping it at them until they backed away.

Suddenly, she felt something cold and hard press against the crown of her head, and she heard the familiar sound of a gun cocking.

"You always did like to bring a knife to a gun fight."

The man wielding the gun moved beside her, the barrel never leaving her head. He did not order her to disarm herself, so she kept the knife steady in her hand. When he had moved around far enough to where she could see his face, Rhea's breath hitched in fear.

His searing eyes pierced her soul—one was green, the other a glassy silver hue. Above his blind eye was a single lock of white hair surrounded by a black mane. There was something familiar about him, but Rhea was too paralyzed to think.

"You don't remember me, do you?" he asked, moving his face closer to hers. He seemed unafraid of the blade that now quivered in her grasp. Her other hand slowly reached into the pocket of her jacket, pressing buttons on her phone in a frantic attempt for help.

"You were so young… I knew they'd spare you," the man continued. His voice was deeper than any she'd ever heard, and his skin was marred with pocks and scars. "Spineless Turks don't have the guts to kill a child."

Rhea's jaw clenched. "Who are you?"

"I'm just a ghost, Rhea," he said. Her name sounded as familiar on his lips as any. He suddenly reached up to his forehead and pushed aside the white lock, revealing a spiral of colorless skin circling around a quarter-sized disk that protruded from his skin. A bullet. "And I've come back to haunt you."

He pulled away from her, pressing the gun firmly to her temple. Rhea took a deep breath and closed her eyes as his finger moved toward the trigger.

Suddenly, the screeching of tires rang through the alley. Rhea opened her eyes to see her attacker's gaze averted. She too, looked in the direction of the noise. At the end of the alleyway, the passenger side door of a black car flew open and Rufus emerged, pulling a sidearm from his jacket. The driver's side opened to reveal Rude, also armed and taking cover behind the door.

The barrel against her temple flew in the direction of the car and opened fire, but he was outnumbered. Rufus and Rude returned with a volley of bullets, allowing Rhea to drop to her knees and flee. She crawled toward a metal barrel a few feet away, snatching up her knapsack as she did so. The pavement scraped her hands and knees until they bled.

"Rhea!"

She screamed as a bullet whizzed past her ear. She coiled behind the barrel, cradling her ringing head as the gunshots suddenly stopped. Rufus and Rude were reloading their weapons when the sound of footsteps reached her good ear. The gangsters had retreated.

"Rhea," came Rufus's voice, muddled by the hum in her ear. The dissonance made her sick to her stomach. "Rhea, are you alright?"

She trailed her wide-eyed gaze up to where he kneeled beside her, his hands resting on her shoulders.

"Rhea, say something!"

She gave no reply.

"Please, answer me!" he pled, his hands coming to cup her cheeks softly.

Rhea's mouth fell open slowly. "Deimos…" she said, her voice sounding like a murmur in her own ears. She looked deeply into Rufus's eyes, which were filled with concern. "He's alive."

* * *

Io felt like she was in an interrogation room, even though she was just sitting across from Rufus in his skyline office. The marble floor seemed like cold granite, the mahogany desk felt like flat steel, the chandelier felt like a single light bulb, illuminating her and only her. The window was like a solid pane of one-way glass through which the whole world could see her, analyze her, watch her…

"Rhea…" Rufus's soft voice drew no will from her. "Can you tell me about the men who attacked you tonight?"

Silence.

"Please, Rhea…" Her amber eyes flicked up to him for only a moment. "I want to help, but you have to talk to me."

Rhea's hand stroked her knees. They pulsed with pain, even though the Turks had cleaned and wrapped the injuries there. Rufus had let her rest in the infirmary for two hours, but he eventually demanded she come up to his office "to talk." Even though his intentions were good, she wanted nothing more than to just go to sleep and pretend the night's events had never happened. She took a deep breath to steady her quivering lungs.

"Deimos was like a father to me," she explained. "He was Hydra's second-in-command when I was with them. He was my mentor, so to speak. He taught me what I needed to know to be a runner."

Rufus had Rhea's folder back out and was scribbling notes in it as she spoke. She hardly cared any longer.

"He was the one who initiated me…" she continued. Her hands came to rest on her cheeks, and she felt the dip of the skin where he had cut away with skillful strokes. "He was in the warehouse when the Turks intercepted us twelve years ago… I thought he was long dead…" She paused, her whole body beginning to shiver with something like fear. "His hair…that white lock… His eye… The bullet is still in his head."

Suddenly, it was not fear that took her, but sorrow. Her shivers turned to sobs and she covered her face with her scraped hands. "Deimos, I'm so sorry… I didn't know you were still alive. Please forgive me." She buried her face in her arms on top of the desk, her shoulders quaking with each labored breath.

She felt something cold wrap itself around her hand, and her whole body froze. Rufus's fingers tightened around her knuckles. She lifted her head just high enough to look into his eyes. His brow was no longer stony and cold, but showed something she'd never seen from him before: compassion.

"You were just a child," he said, his voice quiet and deep. "What do you have to be sorry for?"

Rhea's emotions fought one another like wild animals. She knew that Hydra and the things they'd done to her were evil, but they'd come to her in her most innocent years. The memories she'd made during that time were the only ones she had left.

"He was the closest thing to—"

Rhea was interrupted by the sharp ring of the phone on the desk. Rufus stared at it for a moment before picking up the receiver.

"What is it Cora?" he asked quietly.

"Reno Flynnt is on the line. He says it's urgent. I'll patch him through."

Rufus looked at Rhea when Cora mentioned Reno's name. He excused himself and stood up, walking toward the window. Reno was patched through almost immediately.

"Boss," came Reno's familiar voice, though it hard a sharp edge to it. "How is it that I saw my sister on a national news broadcast just now?"

Rufus looked over his shoulder at Rhea, her eyes downcast and filled with tears. He hesitated. "About that… I made the mistake of appearing in public with her. The tabloids caught us off-guard."

"You don't think there's a leak in the office, do you?" Reno asked.

"No, of course not," Rufus replied, though he hadn't given it much thought before then. "Don't worry about it Reno, I've got it under control."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the phone. "Thanks boss," Reno said at last. "Keep her safe, alright?"

Rufus neglected to tell Reno about the night's distressing events. After a curt good-bye, Reno hung up. Rufus walked back to his desk and replaced the receiver in its cradle.

Rhea's red eyes snapped up to him again. "Who was that?" she asked.

Rufus felt his insides turn. "Confidential," he muttered. It was the first time in years he felt the sharp hint of remorse after lying.

Rhea sensed that there was something wrong—she searched his eyes for an answer, but he looked away before she found it.

"I'd like you to stay here for the night," he announced, closing her folder and tucking it away in his desk. "I know you've only just moved in, but I feel it'd be safer if you stayed nearby…in case of any more slips, I mean."

Rhea nodded and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She suddenly felt embarrassed for losing her composure in front of Rufus so easily. She did not need any more of his pity. She stood to leave, but his voice stopped her.

"Rhea… Are you sure you're alright?"

She looked back at him again. His face still held the hint of compassion she'd seen a few moments before. "I…" She hesitated. Pity and compassion were not the same thing. "I'm fine. I just need to sleep."

Rufus nodded in agreement and stood to follow her. "Come on, I'll walk you to the suite." They made their way toward the door, and as Rufus paused to open it, she felt his hand come to rest midway up her back. Her lungs filled with air, the hair on her arms rising ever so slightly. She had never felt so close to him before.

A warm feeling grew in the pit of her stomach as they walked slowly down the hall. It calmed her, and soon she forgot about everything that had transpired that day. But as soon as it had come, that feeling left her. Rufus boarded the elevator and dropped his hand, averting his eyes. Rhea slid in shamefully behind him, feeling cold all over again.

She occupied herself with watching the floor numbers flicking by.

70, 69, 68, 67…

A shiver returned to her body. With each floor that passed came a need for that calming sensation, that need to feel close to him.

66, 65, 64, 63…

Tears welled uncontrollably to her eyes again. She knew if she were to just touch him again, all the pain and unwanted memories would disappear. But why? Why did he have that power over her?

63, 62, 61, 60…

Rhea could feel herself leaning.

59, 58—

She couldn't hold back any longer. Her head came to rest on his shoulder, and she felt him stiffen up in surprise. Her swaying body folded into him like a child curling against a pillow. She was relieved to find that he did not turn her away: His arm came up to wrap around her quivering shoulders, and his free hand wiped away a stray tear. With each gentle touch, her fears melted away. She felt vulnerable, but wonderfully so.

Rhea paid no attention when the elevator doors slid open. She felt Rufus bend down, and in a swift motion she was lifted easily into his arms. As he walked, she closed her eyes, locking her hands around his neck and tucking her cheek beside his own. He smelled like cigarettes and fresh cotton.

She could not tell how long she had been in his arms when she heard the door to the suite pop open. He pushed it aside with his strong shoulder, and in a moment she felt her body being lain out on cold silks. Her hair feathered out against the pillows, and she let her eyes flutter open long enough to catch a glimpse of him in the moonlight.

He looked like a different man just then, as if someone had painted the portrait of him with a brand new pallet. No longer did his lips hold a dignified curve. No longer were his eyebrows etched with conviction and thought. His ash-blond hair fell down beside his sharp cheekbones as his head hovered over hers. His lips parted to allow for deep, careful breaths to enter and exit his lungs. His night-blue eyes danced back and forth as he studied at her.

Rhea kept her own eyes locked on him until his hand came to rest on her cheek again. They fluttered closed, her thick eyelashes catching the tears that still rested there, sending them sliding across her cheeks. Rufus brushed them away with the pads of his thumbs. Rhea reached up to take his hand into hers, but the weight on the bed shifted and he drew back from her. She heard his soft footsteps receding back across the room. The door swayed open, and it was several moments more before it slowly clicked closed.


	6. Help

**AN: **Wow! I've been working hard on this lately. I'm proud of the results so far. Leave a favorite, follow, or review if you enjoy it.

* * *

Rhea focused all her energy into the tips of her fingers—imagined it flowing from the wheeling depths of her mind, trickling down the hairs that bristled on the back of her neck, snaking down her arms and into her palms. She turned her fingertips in a circular motion. A green glow formed in the center of each of her hands, twisting about her fingers like water. After a deep breath, she sent it forth from her body, her only thought to heal the creature that lay dying before her, to ease its pain and suffering, and—

The brush of his fingertips across her cheeks, the smell of the collar of his jacket, the warmth of his body—

And it was gone. The glow in her hands dissipated as if it had never been there. The will and want drained from her mind, and she opened her eyes in defeat. In the cage that lay before her, a rat whimpered and squealed in pain, its fur stained a pale green color. She watched it writhing for longer than she had intended before reaching into her bag to retrieve a small vial of antidote. She pulled out the dropper and squeezed a few drops onto the rat's fur. Slowly, the soft white of its coat returned.

Rhea removed the bangle around her wrist and threw it beside the cage. In one of its slots lay a glowing, swirling Heal Materia. She stared at it in disgust—Poisona was supposed to be the easiest of the curative spells, and she'd only managed to heal her rat once, though she was sure that had been a fluke. Every time she'd come close to sending the energy out of her body, unwanted thoughts crept into her mind and slashed her focus. Always—always they had been of _him_. Rufus. It had been nearly a week since their last encounter, the one she thought could have been a dream. Though she remembered falling asleep with heart and mind light as air, she'd awoken the next day filled with nothing but shame. She had let herself grow vulnerable to him, become dependent on him. Had this been his plan all along?

Rhea fumbled through her bag for her cigarettes and lighter—she'd gone to the package store and bought a new one with her food allowance. It hadn't felt right to use the one Rufus had given her, which now lay tucked safely in her music box. She then rose and headed for the balcony, stepping out and into the light of dusk.

All the air shot from her lungs as she felt cold skin close around her mouth and middle, pulling her roughly sideways. She dropped her possessions, watching them bounce off the balcony and down to the street below. She fought to free herself from her attacker's grasp, but to no avail.

"I was wondering when you'd come out for a smoke."

The voice that slithered into her ear was cold and deep. Deimos.

After another squirm and struggle, he released her. She spun around and backed herself to the edge of the balcony, hands steadying herself on the railing behind her.

"How did you get up here?" she asked, stunned.

"I have my ways." A smirk was slashed across his worn face. Wrinkles and scars cut deep into the cheeks she had once known as fair and young, but she knew it was him. She had always known.

"I've missed you, my little spitfire." She hadn't heard that nickname in over a decade. He approached her, lifting his long arm out to tuck one of her blazing locks behind her ear. She recoiled. "Oh please, am I really that revolting now?"

Rhea looked up at him, at his glazed, blind eye, and watched with terror as a breeze blew his hair away enough to see the slug in his head. "How did you find me?"

She hadn't thought it possible for his smirk to grow any wider, but it did. He pulled a rolled-up magazine from his back pocket and unfolded it. On the cover was the pixelated, stretched-out photograph of her leaning over the very balcony she now stood on.

"You left me a little trail of breadcrumbs," he said, his voice concealing cynical laughter.

Her breaths were shallow, lungs half-paralyzed in fear or wonder, or both. "I thought you were dead."

Deimos threw the magazine down haphazardly. "Oh, don't worry love, I don't blame you," he said, his voice growing louder and freer now. "I was in a coma for seven years." He tapped his forehead. "You and your brother were the only ones left alive, and…well, Reno doesn't really count anymore, does he?"

Rhea tensed up at the mention of her brother's name. She knew Deimos would have labeled him a traitor had he been conscious when Reno was recruited to the Turks. She now realized she was treading on thin ice with her close ties to Shinra. But had he truly held his grudge for twelve years?

"When I woke up, it was like being born again," he continued, stepping back and letting his arms open to the breeze. "I've devoted the past five years to rebuilding Hydra. If you could only see it now, Rhea. It's what we always wished it could be."

Her breathing stopped completely as he spoke. Hydra reborn. It must have been easy enough to do in the wake of Meteor, when Midgar had been abandoned and the Mako reactors left sitting idle and waiting. But why had she not heard of its return sooner? Surely, whispers of Mako abuse would have reached her ears in the years she'd spent in the slums.

"But I…" she began. "I haven't heard anything about…"

She stopped when Deimos held up his finger, wagging it at her playfully. "No. No, you wouldn't have," he said, his voice a near whisper. "Not drugs, Rhea. Drugs are for the minor leagues." He paused, letting his words sink into her reeling mind. "Weapons," he finished. "Weapons are the true trade of power."

Rhea's wide eyes followed him as he paced around the balcony. Though she was half-disgusted by the words he spoke, some strange force stopped her from sending him away.

"I'm talking guns, bombs, grenades—any type of ordnance you can think of. All powered by Mako." His voice was becoming wild with passion. "Shinra almost had it right with that cannon," he jerked his head in the direction of Midgar, where the Sister Ray lay perched like a patient bird waiting to be fed. "But they were amateurs. Always too afraid to take it to the next level."

"Why?" The simple word was all she could muster. Thousands of questions rested on the edge of her voice, but none others arose.

Deimos suddenly swept in close to her, his face inches from her own. She inhaled sharply and turned her cheek to him. "They need to pay," he hissed. "They need to pay for what they did to me—to us." The words were tacked on as if an afterthought. "I want to see them bow at my feet and beg for mercy—mercy I won't even think about giving to them."

His good eye swirled with anger and madness. Rhea saw herself in its reflection, and it frightened her. He knew about her new life—he must. But why hadn't she been branded a traitor yet? Why hadn't he come to kill her, as he'd almost done in the alley the week before?

"Why are you here?" she asked, her voice slow and deliberate. He pulled back from her, his chest filling with a dignified breath.

"Something tells me you have a special role to play in all of this," he said. "There must have been some reason you were spared as well." He reached his hand out one more time, and Rhea flinched back just the same. Still, it found its way to her cheek, where he brushed his thumb across the red mark that lay across it. "They still look beautiful on you."

Rhea closed her eyes, her jaw clenched as tight as it would go. She heard him laugh wickedly, and his hand fell from her face. When she opened her eyes again, he was standing on the opposite side of the balcony from her. He looked hard at her—looked _through_ her.

"I don't blame you," he said, "for moving on. Though I wish you hadn't gone to _him_ for help." Deimos slid a hand into his pocket and pulled something small and rectangular. He threw it at her feet, but her eyes did not follow it. "Don't forget where you came from, Rhea. If you do, you'll hate yourself for it."

With another depraved smile, Deimos turned, placed his hands on the railing and hoisted himself over. Rhea watched him fall out of sight before rushing over to the edge. Nothing but wind whistled below.

The breath returned to her lungs and she suddenly found herself gasping uncontrollably. She turned back and slid down the side of the railing, sobbing. When she had composed herself, she turned her eyes to the ground before her, leaning forward to pick up the flat piece of plastic that Deimos had discarded. On the surface, soft brown eyes peered back at her beneath fiery red hair: the Shinra badge of Claire Flynnt.

* * *

The darkness that surrounded Rhea felt somehow familiar—the closeness of the air, the smell of vague, ethereal sweetness in it. The smell frightened her, but she could not recall why. The sliver of light that shone around the crack in the door illuminated just enough for her to see dark shapes, glowing gray at the edges of her vision, becoming black if she tried to focus more clearly them. She was lying down, curled toward a wall, and she hugged herself. She felt small in her own arms—all ragged edges and stretched skin.

She suddenly noticed a throbbing pain in her cheeks. She smelled blood and puss upon them. It melded with the hint of sweet air and made her sick to her stomach.

The sound of footsteps reached her ears, sounding as though they had simply materialized from nowhere, growing louder until they were not in her ears anymore, but in her mind. Two rays of darkness passed over her eyes, and the footsteps stopped. She thought she heard breathing, but it could have been laughter—the kind of laughter that only comes from the insane.

"Are you ready?" The deep voice enveloped her mind. It was not muffled by the door, even though she knew that was where it had come from. She made no reply—couldn't have even if she had wanted to.

"Are you ready?"

The smell of sweetness, slithering in under the doorframe, suddenly became overpowering. It made her drowsy and sick.

Two loud knocks made her flinch in the darkness. She curled into herself, feeling the ripple of her ribcage beneath her twitching fingertips.

Two more knocks: louder, rattling her eardrums. "Are you ready?" The sweet smell called out to her, begged to be consumed, to become one with her mind and spirit, filling them up until they spilled over in submission…

Two more knocks brought her racing back to consciousness. They sent a shock through her body, muscles convulsing, tensing until she was sitting up, rigid, in bed. No longer did the room smell of sweetness and decaying flesh. No longer did creeping shapes crawl across her blurred vision. Pre-dawn light streamed in from the window beside her and painted stripes across her quivering legs, slick with cold sweat.

A dream.

But two more knocks made her question that theory. She looked around. There was her nightstand, Restore Materia perched atop it, her dresser and the battered old music box, and her reflection in the mirror beside it. Shaded eyes made her look ghostly, she thought, but it was no dream. With deep, labored breaths, she threw back the covers and stood, walking out into the main room, lit by half-light and silent as a painting.

Rhea turned her head to the door where two more knocks rang out. They were soft and patient and sounded only in her ears, instead of in her mind as they had in her dreams. She knew of only two people that could be waiting outside that door, and she wondered which one she preferred it to be.

"Coming," she called softly to stifle any more knocks. She picked up a small paring knife from the block on her counter before sweeping in to peer through the peep hole. The visitor had his head turned away, only the corner of his shoulder visible in the dim light of the hall. With trembling hands, Rhea reached out and unbolted the door, turning the handle to open it just a crack.

Two night-blue eyes stared at her from the hall, and Rhea could not tell whether or not she was relieved.

"I'm sorry if I woke you," Rufus whispered through the half-opened door. "May I come in?"

Rhea considered for a moment turning him away, dismissing his presence as another unwanted dream, but she was curious as to his reasons for appearing at her door before sunrise. Without a word, she pulled the door open and stepped aside.

He entered slowly, and Rhea was surprised to see him dressed in something other than a suit: A white dress shirt hung loosely from his shoulders, thin enough that she could see the undershirt that lay beneath. The sleeves were rolled up past his forearms; the first three buttons were undone, offering a glimpse of the fair skin that stretched over the edge of his collarbone. He wore a pair of pressed khaki chinos, slim and fitted, cuffs rolled up over the pristine white laces of his flat-soled oxford shoes. He slid his hands into his pockets as he passed her.

Rhea closed the door and attempted to conceal the knife she held, but he had already seen it. He gave her a grave look as she turned to him. "Who did you think might be at the door?" he asked, though his question hardly needed to be answered.

Rhea ignored him, brushed by him and placed the knife back in its holder. She felt his eyes on her, but he would not fill the silence.

"What do you want?" she asked, without even sparing him a glance. Her hands rested on the cold countertop before her.

"I just want to talk," he said softly. She heard him pivot closer to her, just one step.

"What's there to talk about?" Rhea resisted the urge to turn to him, knowing his eyes would melt the cold barrier around her heart and mind. She refused to fall under his spell again.

"I think you know." His voice was no longer a soft whisper.

"Shouldn't you have that damned folder with you?" Rhea hissed in return. She moved away from him, turning on the tap and cleaning dishes absentmindedly.

"Please don't patronize me," he said over the clink of glasses in the sink. "I'm only trying to help."

Rhea dropped the bowl in her hand and spun on him. "Did it ever occur to you that I don't need your help?" she spat. "That I never even asked for it?"

His shoulders raised defensively, the stoic lines returning to his face. "Think for a moment about where you'd be if you hadn't had that phone with you when you were attacked."

Rhea scoffed and broke a cynical smile. "He wouldn't have found me in the first place had you not been around when the paparazzi came snapping."

He shifted his shoulders guiltily but didn't break his gaze. "Well there's not much we can do about what's in the past," he said at last. He took another step forward, and Rhea quickly whipped her head around again. "But we can choose how we deal with the future."

Rhea shut off the tap and moved away from him, drying her hands on a towel hanging from the cabinet. "Well, what do you want me to do about it?" she asked with her back still turned to him. She could tell her cold shoulder was eating at him, the way she flicked her hair over her shoulder; the way she kept her eyes averted even as she moved past him across the kitchen, putting dishes away.

"You'll tell me if he contacts you again," he said. She suddenly froze, half-turning her cheek to him. She could tell he had intended it to be a question, but it had come out more like a demand.

Rhea exhaled sharply and shook her head. In a moment of bravery, she turned and met his gaze full-on. He was closer than she'd expected, maybe an arm's length away. His eyes were shaded, only the edges of him outlined against the dim light of dawn. "Why do you even care?" she asked with cruel syllables.

His whole body tensed with hurt. The corners of his mouth fell away into a frown and his hands, which lay at his sides, curled into loose fists. Rhea was not satisfied by his wordless answer. With another disappointed shake of her head, she moved to brush past him.

Suddenly, Rufus caught her arm in his grasp, thumb pressing hard on the inside of her elbow. She spun on him, face contorted in shock, but he would not let go.

"Is this what you want?" he whispered suddenly, pulling her closer to him with minimal effort. He moved his thumb across the faded track marks and supple veins beneath the surface of her skin. It hurt her. "Do you want to go back to this life? _Do you?"_

Rhea's eyes stared into his in disbelief. She could have twisted away from his grasp, but something she saw in his eyes—her reflection, perhaps—kept her locked in place.

"I don't…" her voice sounded like someone else's. "I—"

Her lips were silenced by his own—firm, powerful lips enclosing her own. Eyes wide, arm still caught in his grasp, Rhea trembled as Rufus pulled her into him, his free hand reaching around to rest between her shoulder blades. Her eyes fell closed as he touched her. She felt warm all over, from fingers to toes, even in the soft flesh of her inner arm where his thumb still pressed as if holding down a squirming mouse. She welcomed the feeling, but she was still frightened by it—by his power over her.

When that fear overtook her, Rhea managed to wrench herself free from his lips. He released her arm, and she reeled backward with her face turned away and her hand covering her half-agape mouth. Behind her, Rufus stood as still as a statue, all gray and glimmering in the twilight.

"Leave," she whispered between her fingertips.

He did not move.

She turned to him, a fire blazing in the once-tame depths of her amber eyes. "Get out!"

She saw his head turn up out of the corner of her eye, jaw clenched, pride aching. After a moment, he pushed passed her and threw the door wide, pulling it closed with a sharp slam.

Rhea leaned against the countertop, hand still folded over her lips as if she were afraid of losing the feeling they held inside. Sobs racked her body, and she slammed her fist down in anger and turmoil. She opened her eyes and turned them down to where her hand had landed. Beyond the cloud of tears, she saw the warm brown eyes of her mother staring back at her.


	7. Last Wish

**AN: **This chapter's a little bit shorter, but I think it gets some good plot points out. Leave a review if you liked, or if you have feedback for me. Thanks so much for reading. Hope you enjoy!

* * *

It was 3 a.m. and Rufus was wide awake. His face was lit by the dim, artificial light of the computer monitor before him. He'd read the file more than a dozen times by now, but nothing in it seemed to add up.

Deimos had been given his own file in the Turk's assignment database. Their research showed most of the general facts—name, age, gender, and his wanted status, currently sporting the great black "DECEASED" heading. Rufus now updated it to "MOST WANTED," sending it to the top of the Turk's pile. He knew he'd have to track him down to get answers, as Rhea had suddenly become a stone wall to him.

Rufus thought his visit to her apartment might have been a mistake—that he had been to rash and asked too much of her in her fragile state. But he was desperate for an explanation. Now that Deimos had resurfaced, what were his plans? And what did Rhea have to do with all? Though he knew in his subconscious that Rhea was probably capable of handling the situation herself, he felt suddenly protective over her. He had promised Reno he would look out for her, and so far he had almost let her be executed in the streets and kissed her in a moment of weakness. He doubted any of that was what Reno meant by "keep her safe."

There was also the threat that Rhea might be persuaded to realign herself with Deimos. She had been reluctant to join the relocation program in the first place, and Deimos might have offered her something more appealing in return for her allegiance.

These thoughts kept Rufus up at night. He wanted nothing more than to be by her side, to keep watch over her, to guide her out of the darkness that haunted her past. But Deimos was becoming an unfortunate setback in that process.

Rufus slammed the monitor of his laptop closed and threw it into the drawer of his desk. He leaned back and ran his cold hands down his face, feeling the tired skin of his cheeks tug and stretch unwillingly. He rose from his chair and approached the window that lay behind the desk. Edge looked as peaceful as ever, lit by the full moon and wheeling stars. There was just enough light that he could see his reflection in the glass, and it frightened him a bit. There were dark circles beneath his eyes, his hair disheveled, tie hanging loose from his neck and jacket wrinkled. He thought back to the night before and remembered the look on Rhea's face as he had pulled back from her. He had barely recognized that face: a look of shock in her wide eyes—or perhaps it was fear. He had not meant to be so coarse with her, but his emotions had gotten the best of him. He had spent so many years suppressing his anger and frustration that they often boiled over at inopportune moments. He wished he could go back to the night before and steal back the crude words and that indelicate kiss. No, perhaps that wasn't it at all—perhaps he just wanted to tell her how he truly felt.

Rufus pulled his phone from his pocket and flipped it open. He stared at the soft glow of the screen and pulled up Rhea's number. His finger hovered over the keypad for several long minutes. He then flipped the phone closed and returned his gaze to the sleepy city before him.

* * *

"Well done, Rhea." Her instructor's voice rang brightly over the dull hum of magic being conjured in the lecture hall. "Everyone, Rhea has managed to cast Regenerate on her mouse. Turn and see."

Rhea smiled proudly as students came over to watch her casting her spells with great proficiency.

She had struggled hard to catch up to the class in the weeks after her encounter with Rufus. Her spirit had been in great turmoil being tugged between alliance to Hydra and her ties to Shinra. She was angry at both of them, for many different reasons, and her magic had suffered because of it. However, she hadn't heard from either man in two weeks, giving her time to refocus her efforts. To her relief, she'd unlocked the secret to curative magic in that time.

One night, as she sat before her dying rat on the verge of tears, Rhea had retreated to her room and opened the music box on her dresser. Lying on top of the tiny pile of possessions was her mother's badge. She left the cover of the box propped open and curled up on her bed with the picture pressed to her heart. She was beautiful. Rhea was in awe of it, and of the way she looked just like her mother. Rhea thought back to the night she died, remembering how her mother had barely made a sound as she lay dying in the streets. The only words she had formed were the broken syllables of her children's names: "Reno… Rhea…" They had gurgled up from her throat as she reached out to them, watching them being dragged into shadows.

Rhea wondered if she would be able to save her mother now. She wondered if she could draw the bullet from her breast, heal the gaping wound with a powerful Cure spell. It pained her to realize she would never know.

When Rhea returned to conjuring spells on her rat, she always pictured her mother—not suffering or dying as she thought she might, but she imagined the close-lipped smile and cheerful eyes she saw on her Shinra badge. Rhea pictured that face standing beside her, looking over her shoulder, having been spared the sad fate from sixteen years before…

To her delight, Rhea's strategy had propelled her to new heights in her studies. She had aced her exam on Heal Materia and was now learning how to master Restore magic. In four more weeks, Rhea would become a certified Healer, ready to join the ranks of the W.R.O. and travel the world, easing pain and suffering wherever she went.

Rhea returned home from her last class of the week with her head held high. Thoughts of Rufus and his ill-timed kiss no longer haunted her thoughts, and likewise her reunion with Deimos was pushed somewhere deep into her consciousness. She hoped, with any luck, she wouldn't have to see either of them again anytime soon.

She should have known that was impossible.

When Rhea arrived at the door to her apartment, she found a white envelope tacked to it. On the front was printed her name in swirling script lettering. She pulled the envelope down and entered her apartment, unfolding the paper slowly. She pulled out the contents that lay inside—a red-and-gold post card with the Shinra logo printed on the front. With a sour look, she turned it over.

"_Dear Miss Rhea Flynnt,_

_You have been cordially invited to the third annual Restoration Gala, set to be held at 7 o'clock in the evening, July 30th. Here will be celebrated the long-lasting collaboration between the Shin-Ra Company and the World Restoration Organization. The event itself will take place in Edge City Park, with music provided by Junon Symphony Orchestra and speeches from both organizations' presidents and high esteemed chairmen. All transportation needs have been arranged and will be set to arrive at your position at exactly 6:45 in the evening. Please be ready to leave when your car arrives._

_We, Shin-Ra Company and the World Restoration Organization, thank you for your participation in this grand event. We look forward to seeing you._

_Signed,_

_President Rufus Shin-Ra_

_President Reeve Tuesti." _

Rhea tightened her grip on the paper. As she read, thoughts of Rufus crept into her mind—the sharp twinge of his finger on her arm, the damp curve of his lips pressed against hers. Was this his version of an apology? Rhea doubted it. More than likely, it was simply another way for him to assert his power over her. There was no RSVP on the letter, meaning it would not be her choice whether or not to appear. With a frustrated sigh, Rhea crumpled the letter in her hand and threw it in the trash.

How typical.

* * *

Rhea had never been to a formal gathering before. She was unsure of how to dress or conduct herself. Though her attendance at the Gala had not been her choice, she determined that she would at least try to fit in with the big wigs and rich folks that were sure to be there. She wanted to show Rufus that she could get along fine without his help, that she didn't need him to lead her along like a child. She would arrive calm and composed and ready to charm anyone she might meet.

To fit her new persona, she had taken the remainder of her monthly stipend and bought a lovely cocktail dress at a local boutique. It was a shimmering emerald green color with a plunging neckline and a long black zipper running from the nape of her neck to the middle of her back. It fit tightly to her curves and stopped just above her knees. When she pulled it on the night of the Gala, it was as if she became a new person. She paired the dress with dramatic eye makeup and a set of black jewelry that she'd kept stashed in her music box. She'd pulled her hair into an elegant twist accented by a small braid.

When she'd finished getting ready, Rhea tucked her mother's badge into the small clutch she carried. For some strange reason, it calmed her to know it was there. After a final look in the mirror, she headed out to street level to wait for her car. A black sedan soon arrived with Rude behind the wheel. Wordlessly, he left the front seat to open the back door for her. Rhea smiled at him as she slid in, legs together like a lady, hands smoothing her dress across her lap. He reentered the driver's side and in a moment, they were off.

While they drove, Rhea thought about how she might react to seeing Rufus again after their awkward encounter. She'd spent many days replaying that moment in her head, and she thought now how it might have gone much differently had Deimos never appeared. It was strange, but Rhea considered it a kindness that Deimos had given her mother's Shinra badge to her. She knew his organization was the reason her mother and father were dead, but it had not been done by his hand. Everyone who had been involved in that incident had now been long gone. Perhaps Deimos simply wanted to apologize for the sins of his dead comrades.

The car slowed to a stop and Rhea was awoken from her thoughts. Rude came around to open the door for her. She took his extended hand and stood, offering him a polite nod before heading toward the entrance to the city park.

The grounds had been fitted with every security measure possible—from metal detectors to Turks positioned every few feet around its perimeter. She passed through the detectors without much of a fuss and joined the throng of people moving toward the center of the park. The trees were all hung with red and gold decorations, and soft orchestral music floated up on the warm evening air. A fountain trickled in the center of the main area in front of the orchestra and podium. Rhea stood at the edge of the crowd it and let her eyes roam around the area. Each man looked not much different from the next: they all wore tuxedos and had finely-groomed hair, a glass of champagne in one hand and an overdressed wife on the other. Judging by their idle chatter, neither of the presidents had arrived yet.

Just then, Rhea's ears perked up at the sound of a twig snapping. She had just turned to look into the dark depths of the wooded area behind her when a cold hand snapped out and pulled her behind a tree. When she was pushed up against it, another hand found her mouth. Rhea looked at the figure before her: the white eye was the first thing she saw.

Deimos held a finger to his lips until Rhea nodded her head in agreement. He then released her and jerked his head further into the darkness. She followed him obediently, amazed at how he'd managed to get into the park with the vast amounts of security surrounding it.

After a moment of walking, Deimos turned to her. He then reached into the waistband of his pants and pulled out a small pistol, pointing it at her menacingly. Rhea froze.

"Just a precaution, love," he said quietly, peering over her shoulder toward the party. "I'm sure you understand."

"How did you get in here?" she asked in awe.

"I told you I have my ways," he replied.

Rhea watched that malevolent smile spread across his face. "…What do you want?"

"When's the president getting here?"

Rhea shook her head. "I don't know."

"Listen here, my little spitfire," he said. "President Shinra has some information that I need. He's been keeping it hidden since the fall of Meteor." He approached her slowly now, his gun arm still poised. "I need you to get it for me."

"Why?" Rhea asked, her voice tiny in the face of the barrel staring back at her.

He smirked and cocked his head to the side. "I don't think you're in a position to ask questions here, love."

"Listen, Deimos," she said softly. "I want to help you. I really do. But I need more information. You can't keep me in the dark like this."

Deimos narrowed his eyes and, after a short pause, lowered his gun a bit. "I'm looking for a file listed under 'REACTOR'," he explained slowly. "It'd be in his office, closely guarded. I need what's inside for a…_project_ I'm working on."

Suddenly, the sound of applause and muffled words reached her ears. Rufus had arrived. "What do you need me to do?"

Dry laughter hissed from his throat. "Simple, Rhea," he said, running his eyes up and down her body. "I need you to do what you do best."

She tensed up. "I'm not sleeping with him."

"Fine," he said. "But my next option would be much messier."

Rhea thought about Rufus just then—about her tumultuous feelings for him. She'd spent the past two weeks pushing them down into the depths of her subconscious, ignoring the way her body grew warm at the thought of his lips against her own, the way her eyes fluttered closed whenever she caught the scent of something that smelled like him. She wanted very badly to grant Deimos this last wish, the one she hoped would cut him from her life forever, but she did not want it to come at such a heavy price. She would do what she had to do.

"And if I get them?" she asked. "What happens next?"

Deimos slid the hammer of his gun forward and holstered it. "Meet me back here tomorrow at 10 a.m.," he said, turning away from her. "I'll show you everything you want to know."

Rhea watched him disappear into the darkness and stood stone-still for several moments. She had finally made a decision that was her own, but now she wondered if it had been the right one.


	8. Scars

**AN:** This will probably be the last chapter I write for a while. It's not because I don't want to, but I have a lot of school stuff approaching and this is a huge distraction! I'm enjoying writing it though. I hope you are enjoying reading it. Leave a follow, favorite, or review if you have. I would really appreciate it.

* * *

When Rhea returned to the party, she felt as if she were walking in a dream. She had just promised Deimos that she would betray the man who'd helped rebuild her life. Whether it had been a subconscious desire or simply because she'd had a gun pointed in her face, she didn't know. As she slipped past the mingling guests and black-suited servers, she searched her mind for some justification for the endeavor she was about to undertake. She had no idea what Deimos was planning to do with the information she was going to steal, and if it meant she could keep Rufus out of harm's way, perhaps it was in the best interest of all parties. She only hoped Deimos would leave Rufus alone after she completed the task.

Rhea stood dumbly beside the trickling fountain, lost in thought. Her hand rested on the porcelain edge of it, drops of water gently sprinkling her fingertips. She looked at her reflection in the rippling surface. Her face was set with an expression of panic, eyes wide and mouth half-agape. With a vigorous shake of her head, Rhea pushed the thoughts out of her mind, and not a moment too soon. A familiar voice called out to her from not far off.

"Rhea."

She whipped her head around to see Rufus approaching her, separating the crowd as if he were some venerated prophet. He wore a pristine white tuxedo with smooth satin lapels, his shirt, tie, and kerchief all black in contrast. As he walked, Rhea forced a soft smile and let her hand fall away from the fountain. She took one small step to meet him, lifting her hand just a bit. Rufus took it with his own, but did not stop—rather, he moved in and placed a quick, yet affectionate kiss on her cheek. She stiffened up at the gesture—caught a hint of his scent at the corner of his jaw—and returned to smiling as he pulled away.

"I'm glad you could make it," he said, releasing her hand. "You look wonderful." She gave him a polite nod before he moved aside, revealing Reeve standing idly behind him. "You remember Reeve."

"Of course," she said, stepping forward with her hand extended. "How nice to see you again."

Reeve took her hand and placed a quick kiss on the top of it. "Likewise," he said, his voice bright with excitement. "I trust you've been getting along well in your studies?"

Rhea nodded. "Yes sir, quite well," she replied. "I'm grateful for the opportunity."

"And we are honored to give it," Reeve said. "Your mother would be so proud."

Rhea lowered her head, her eyes falling to the velvet clutch she held in her hand. Claire… What would she think of her daughter now? About to forsake the kindness of her mother's successor for the desires of the very gang that had ended her life.

Suddenly, she felt a hand come to rest on the middle of her back. She looked up to see Rufus standing beside her, his dark eyes twinkling. "Yes, she would be," he said softly. Rhea was not reassured.

It wasn't long before people began to approach Rufus and Reeve, shaking hands and conversing about this proposal or that project. Rhea stood back from them to avoid drawing her attention to herself, but Rufus suddenly turned and motioned to her. "May I introduce Rhea Flynnt," he said. Rhea felt her cheeks glow hotly as the eyes of the group fell on her.

One of them, an elderly man with a receding hairline and sallow skin, gave a look of surprise at her name. "Flynnt?" he said. "You mean Claire's daughter?" He went on to say how he was one of the first investors in her work on designing Midgar's infrastructure, and how he greatly respected her work. "But…where have you been all these years?"

Rufus gave her a knowing look before turning to the man. "Rhea found herself on hard times after Claire passed," he explained. "She's now part of our relocation initiative."

"Ah yes," the man continued. "And do you find the program fulfilling?"

Rhea looked at Rufus, his eyes narrowed and lips donning a sly curve.

"Very much so," she said. Her voice had lost the confidence she had worked so hard to instill in it. "I've learned a great deal. It's been a wonderful opportunity."

The elderly man tipped his champagne glass. "Well there you have it," he said, a hint of surprise in his voice. "A testimonial straight from the source. You know, Rufus, I had my doubts about the funding of such a program, but perhaps there is more to this collaboration than meets the eye."

"Wonderful to hear, Mr. Clarkson," Rufus said brightly. "I may be biased, but I'm quite inclined to agree."

Rhea stood back and listened as Rufus and Reeve chatted idly for several more minutes with this man called Mr. Clarkson. She hadn't failed to notice that the conversation ended with a shiny pen being pulled from the old man's pocket to fill out a check with several zeros. She watched, confused, as Rufus slid the paper into a gold clip and then into his jacket pocket.

She suddenly realized this ball was probably more than just a Gala to celebrate the planet's restoration. As she looked around, she saw nothing but pure wealth and extravagance. This gathering had doubled as a business venue, and she had been invited as nothing more than a case study for the benefactors to scrutinize.

Her theory was all but confirmed as she spent the rest of the night on Rufus's arm explaining the details of her circumstances. Almost every time, her name was recognized, and almost every time, the conversation ended with the exchange of money. She had become a fund-raising party piece.

Rhea felt slighted by this idea. Though she had fooled herself into thinking she held no special feelings for Rufus, she soon realized it was not all that simple. In fact, she had admired Rufus, even grown to trust him, before Deimos had made his unexpected return. The sudden resurgence of her past made her forget her future, and that Rufus might have a place in it. Now, as she watched the twinkle of the delight in his eye with the addition of another check to his collection, she found herself feeling hurt at the thought that Rufus might not hold her in the same regard.

Rufus noticed her staring as they were left alone again, Reeve having wandered off with a separate group of patrons. He dipped to catch her eyes with his. "Hey," he said softly, moving in close so as to shut out any more intruders. "You alright?" Rhea snapped up at his words and met his gaze. "I'm sorry about all this," he said, his hand tugging nervously at the cuff of his jacket. "And for…last time."

Rhea was surprised to hear the words. Though they had been all but forced from his lips and hidden in a near-whisper, she had not expected him to bring up the incident at all. Why would he when she was there as nothing more than an accessory?

"I know this isn't exactly how you wanted to spend your Saturday evening," he continued. "But Reeve and I really appreciate your help. These benefactors will help cover the cost of the relocation project."

Rhea did not reply. She simply stared into his eyes, which grew ever more concerned in the wake of her silence.

"I hope you can forgive me," he said.

The words felt burdened somehow, as if he were trying to apologize for a lifetime's worth of mistakes. Rhea opened her mouth to reply, but found herself muted by something…Deimos, perhaps. Rufus was making it hard for her to go through with the promise she'd made to her former mentor, her father figure. Every time she tried to alienate herself from Rufus, the coldness in him melted away, and he became the man who had brushed away her tears with a careful touch, the man who had kissed her even though every fiber of his being had told him not to.

"It's alright," she said at last, tilting her head to the side. "Just tell me next time you need me to put on a show."

Rufus broke an unexpected smile, his bright white teeth bared in a way she hadn't seen before. "Come on," he said, extending his hand. "Treat me to a dance."

The music had settled into a soft melody. People around them paired up in ballroom style. "I don't know how," she admitted, though she somehow wasn't embarrassed.

"I'll lead you," he said, reaching out to take her purse. She twitched away at first, but eventually allowed him to take it and slip it into his jacket pocket. He then reached out his hand again and beckoned for her to take it.

After another moment of hesitance, she accepted the invitation and stepped in close to him. With his free hand, he took her arm and placed it on his shoulder, then dropped his own to her waist, fingers wrapping around the sharp edge of her hip. The warmth she had turned away at their last encounter now returned with full force. It flared in her cheeks and over the freckled skin of her chest as he turned her slowly in time with the sweeping violins. This time, however, Rhea rose above it. She knew, at least for the sake of the task at hand, she must remain in control of her emotions.

As the dance progressed, Rhea leaned herself closer to him, cheek beside his, hips touching every other step. She stroked her fingers up the soft satin of his lapels, tucked them beneath the collar of his jacket, grazing the downy hair at the nape of his neck. She felt his skin ripple at her touch. Every so often, her steps would falter, but Rufus always brought her right back in.

"See?" he whispered softly, his breath warm on her cheek. "You're not all that bad."

Rhea fought back a smile, resting her chin on his shoulder. As they moved in slow circles, her eyes trailed over the faces of the other couples. Some of them were giving her odd looks, but strangely, she didn't care. She didn't think Rufus did either.

As the music began a slow decrescendo, Rhea pulled her head back just enough to look at him. He was smiling with a warm glow on his high cheekbones. Her lips parted as if to speak, but her eyes searched his for several moments before any words were formed.

"I need to talk to you," she said at last in a wavering voice.

His smile soon fell away as the music ended and the crowd began a quiet applause. Rufus lowered his hand, hers still clutched in its grasp. The twitch of his fingers showed his concern. "I have to give the closing speech now," he told her, his voice low. "Meet me behind the stage afterward. I'll take you back to the office. We can talk there."

Rhea nodded, and he gave her hand one last squeeze before turning away. A moment later, he appeared on the stage beside Reeve. They both waved in response to enthusiastic applause. Rufus took the podium while Reeve stood back.

"I'd like to thank you all so much for coming," he said, his voice stately and clear. "Your company, conversation, and generous patronage have been an honor and a pleasure to behold. As you return home this evening, remember that today marks the fifth anniversary of Meteorfall; remember how lucky we are to have survived it. It is a shame it has taken such a tragedy to remind us all of our blessings."

Rhea felt his eyes fall on her just then. She met the gaze willingly.

"Success can be found in even the darkest of places. But we must be the ones to turn on the light. Thank you again—on behalf of the Shinra Company, on the behalf of the W.R.O., and on behalf of all of Edge. Goodnight."

With another eruption of applause, Rufus backed away from the podium, following Reeve off the back of the stage. Rhea slipped her way against the flow of people moving for the exit. She made her way around the stage until she saw Rufus standing at its edge. He was shaking hands with Reeve as she approached, and both men turned their eyes on her.

"Rhea," he said. "I'm glad you came by. Thank you again for your assistance this evening. I hope the party wasn't too much of a bore."

Rhea offered him a kind smile. "Of course not." She extended her hand again, and he placed another quick kiss atop it. "It was a pleasure. Thank you again for everything you've done."

He nodded graciously, turning away from them. "Good evening to the both of you."

Rufus watched him being escorted through a path in the woods by two Turks. As he did, Rhea slipped her hand into his own, causing him to turn to her suddenly, surprised. "Are you ready?" she asked.

Just then, Rude appeared alongside a slender Turk with long dark hair. They were coming up the path toward them, and she released his hand quickly. He cleared his throat.

The Turks looked at each other when Rufus announced Rhea would be tagging along, but they said nothing of it. The long-haired Turk led the way down the path with Rude following behind them. When they reached the perimeter of the park, two more Turks pulled open a heavy gate that had been built into the side of it. On the other side sat another blacked-out car, doors soon opened by the Turk in front.

Rufus nudged Rhea forward, and she quickly slid into the back seat of the car. He followed, the doors slamming two more times as the Turks entered the front seat. Rhea became suddenly anxious. She took to smoothing her dress out over her lap, foot tapping wildly on the floor of the car. Rufus took notice and slid his finger over a switch on the door beside him. Slowly, a black metal partition rolled up between the front seat and the back. She saw the Turks exchange another glance before it closed them out completely.

Rufus then turned to her, watched her biting her lip nervously, fingers stretched out over the tops of her knees. "What was it you wanted to talk—"

Rhea pressed herself against him, lips colliding with his, heart pounding against his chest. She placed her arm on the opposite side of him, trapping him between her body, kissing him the way he had kissed her. She felt him shudder beneath her, his body tensing. In a moment, he had reached his hands up and took hold of her face, pulling it back abruptly. His chest heaved with heavy breaths, eyes averted. Rhea reached her hand to his chest, running her fingers up to the warm skin of his neck.

"Rhea, please," he said, looking at her with his hand over his mouth. "Are you sure this is…"

He trailed off as she brought her lips in where her hand rested on the corner of his jaw, kissing it softly. She moved up to his ear, kissed just below it before taking his diamond stud between her teeth and giving it a gentle tug. He inhaled sharply, eyes falling closed. Her hand fell around the ridges of his throat, and she felt the muscles move as he breathed.

Rufus placed his hand over hers and pulled it away. He turned to her, his cheeks several shades redder.

"Rhea," he said, his voice suddenly grave. "Don't you think we should talk about this first?"

She scoffed and pulled her hand out of his grasp. "You know Rufus? You talk too much. You just _love_ to hear the sound of your own voice. I bet you talk during sex, too. You practice your speeches and recite your daily schedule. When are you going to just _do _something?"

Rhea was shocked at the slew of words that had just spilled from her mouth. Though her sudden enthusiasm was only half-sincere, she hadn't imagined herself ever speaking to him so aggressively. It was Deimos—his task was turning her into a different person, someone she barely recognized.

"I'm just worried," Rufus said finally. "I'm afraid of what this could do to our reputations. I mean, if Reno were to ever find out—"

"He _won't_ find out," she interrupted. She heaved a sigh to calm herself. "After that kiss, I thought you wanted me." She paused, her arms wrapping around herself self-consciously. "Well, now you have me. Are you just going to turn me away?"

Rufus sat in silence for several long moments, his eyes moving across her as if he were trying to find some flaw, some imperfection that would tell him this was just a dream. All he saw was her soft, honey skin, the curve of her hip as it lay twisted toward him, the wisp of hair that had fallen down over her half-exposed shoulder. None of these things could ever be imperfect. He slowly reached out, took her arm and pulled it away from her body until he was against her again, lips enclosing hers.

If he had looked any closer, he would have seen the hint of doubt hiding in the glow of her amber eyes. It had been whispered into her by someone else, but it was still there, bidding her onward in spite of her true desires.

Their moment came to an abrupt end as the car came to a stop. Rufus pulled away and Rhea straightened dress, checking her makeup in the reflection of the tinted windows before the door swung open. She took the Turk's hand as it was extended to her, slipping out into the dark parking garage. Rufus followed, his hand wrapping around her waist as he led the way to the elevator nearby. They entered, leaving both Turks standing at ease behind them.

As soon as the elevator doors slid closed, their hands again found one another again. Rhea had removed his jacket and loosened his tie, her hands tugging his shirt untucked. Rufus kissed her with fervor as she did so, tensing up as her cold fingertips found the skin of his sides. He lifted her and pressed her against the curved glass of the elevator, moving his lips to her neck. Her eyes opened long enough to catch the floor numbers speeding by. "Rufus," she whispered. "We're almost there."

The doors soon slid open. He let her down and leaned to pick up his jacket before taking her hand and leading her down the warmly-lit hall. They burst into his office, Rufus pulling her into the first door to the left. It gave way to a large bedroom, darkened and still with only moonlight pouring in from the window beside them. She let her eyes roam around it as Rufus closed and locked the door. He came up behind her, slid his hands around her waist and kissed her neck softly. She smiled and turned to face him, pulling his silk tie off completely and throwing it to the ground without a care. She then slid her fingers through each of the buttons of his shirt, her eyes never leaving his as she did so.

Rhea gently brushed the shirt from his shoulders, the flat of her palms stoking over them and down his surprisingly muscular back. His shoulder blades rose ever so slightly as he shifted his arms to wrap around her waist. Rufus pulled her closer to him, hips touching hers, her hands coming back to run down the front of him. His chest was cut with tough sinew, but her movements hesitated as she felt an irregularity among them. Pulling away not more than an inch, she let her eyes fall to his side—there, etched across his abdomen like a claw mark, lay a dark, grayish scar. It was wide as well as long, wrapping around the front of his stomach. It looked like a crack in the planet's crust, deep in the center and rising on either side. She touched it with wonder and felt him flinch.

Rhea's eyes returned to his, searching them briefly. "What is this…?" she asked.

He forced a small smile. "Geostigma," he whispered.

Rhea returned her hand to the scar, tracing it softly with two fingers. Rufus tensed beneath her touch, afraid it might disgust her. Far from it—she was entranced by it. "It's beautiful."

Rufus raised his hand and lifted her chin upward. He moved to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing across the sharp mark across her cheekbone. "Not as beautiful as yours."

As Rhea looked into his eyes, lit by half-light, glowing like lapis, all thoughts of her true intentions melted away. In that moment, she believed she might truly be in love with him, with everything about him—even the scars he chose to hide from her.


	9. Swaying

**AN: **Ah! Finally an update. Though it doesn't seem like too many people are chomping at the bit to read this story... Hopefully it'll get more readers soon. I hope those who are reading are enjoying it! Leave some reviews, fav's, or follows if you did. Thanks!

* * *

Rhea had never watched someone sleep before. She was amazed that anyone could ever look so peaceful and vulnerable. Rufus lay curled toward her, half on his side and half prone. His blonde hair sprawled down the pillow case and over his forehead in tiny rivers. His breath whispered out of half-parted lips in perfect rhythm, each one a small sigh of content. One of his hands gripped loosely to a lock of her hair, fingers twitching around it on the bed between them.

She almost felt sorry for him—for what she was about to do to him. Rufus had entrusted her with the most intimate parts of him; he had let her run her fingers across the scars of his past. In the moment, she had cherished these secrets as she did her own, but as dawn broke over them, its harsh light brought ugly truths to the surface. This had not been the way she would have chosen to fulfill Deimos's last wish, but it was much too late to turn back now. As the first true ray of sunlight cut across the peaceful lines of his face, Rhea forced her body up, slow and quiet as a spirit. Her hair slipped through his fingers as she pulled it from his grasp, and his fist closed around the emptiness left behind.

Perched on the edge of the bed, Rhea leaned down and picked up the ribbon that had held her hair the night before. She pulled her locks into a loose ponytail before scouring the floor for the rest of her clothes. She rose and dressed in complete silence, feet padding quietly on the soft white carpet. She scooped up her heels and turned for the exit. Before she left, she made sure to retrieve her clutch from the breast pocket of the white tuxedo jacket that lay on the floor. Also inside lay the clip full of checks that Rufus had collected—she didn't have the heart to count them. Carefully, she slid them back into the jacket and laid it back on the floor.

As she opened the door, Rhea spared one last glance back at the sleeping Rufus, his face now glowing with morning light. She wanted to see some darkness in it, some evil intent that would make it easier for her to deceive him, but she could not. He stirred like a child in his sleep, reaching his hand across the pillow for something that wasn't there.

She slipped through the crack in the door and eased it closed.

Her feet grew cold as she tiptoed across the black marble floors, around the pillars, and behind Rufus's desk. She ran her hand along the smooth, lacquered wood, worn away just a bit where his arms had rested on its edge, diligent with work. On the right side of it lay a row of drawers with ornate brass handles. She pulled one open, revealing several file folders packed inside. She ran her fingertips along them, each sporting a one-word label in capital letters. Most of them were abbreviated, and she could not tell what they referred to, but she saw no "REACTOR" among them. She stooped down, tried the second drawer, and found the file she sought tucked between "RARE MATERIA" and "RELOCATION." As she pulled it from the drawer, the folder behind it slipped open, and in its contents she caught a glimpse of her own face. Her relocation file.

Rhea stared at it for a while—at the picture, clipped from the tabloid headlines and pinned to the first page. She had thought she didn't care about it, but as she looked at the scrawled writing on the pages beneath, she found it hard to resist. Placing the REACTOR file carefully on the ground, she picked up her own and flipped it open. The first few pages were filled with basic information and the stories she had told him during their meetings. They were mostly verbatim, with no personal reflection. On the final page, however, her eye was drawn to a note scrawled in red:

"Displays extreme contempt for living relations with no desire to reconcile. Volatile emotional state coupled with drug use. Not recommended for Relocation Assistance."

In the margins, a second set of notes read "Ruling Overridden" with Reeve's signature beside it.

Rhea snapped the folder closed and leaned up, emptied like a spilt glass. The glorified image of Rufus that she'd constructed in her mind was slowly falling away, brick by brick, moment by moment. After she'd spilled her heart to him—told him truths she'd scarcely admitted to herself—he had thought of her as nothing more than a bitchy ex-junkie.

Hurt beyond words, Rhea coldly threw the file back into the drawer, pushed it closed, and stood. She folded the REACTOR files carefully and slipped them into her purse, swiping her heels from the desk and turning to leave. She stopped however, and turned back to the desk, grabbing a piece of paper and a red pen. She scribbled a note and placed it on the surface of the desk before slipping out of the office in silence.

* * *

When Rhea finally reached the park, she removed her heels and slipped her feet into the cool, dew-covered grass with a sigh. She'd had to leave the W.R.O. building unnoticed, which meant no complimentary Turk chauffer today. She'd walked two miles in stiletto heels and now had blisters forming on the edge of her toes. As she walked, she wondered when she'd gotten so complacent—in the years after her liberation from Hydra, she'd walked twice that distance every day, barefoot. She was strangely disappointed with herself.

The park was still decorated with Shinra banners and baubles, though the security measures had since been removed. The park was open to the public again, and families meandered here and there between the trees. W.R.O. workers were taking down the stage from the ceremony, giving her a reference point with which to find Deimos. She searched a shaded glade near the edge of the path, but found no sign of him in it. She glanced around and spotted a figure sitting at a bench a few yards away. His face was turned away, but she saw the white lock of hair blowing in the wind, and she tensed up.

In that moment, before he'd noticed her, Rhea considered turning around and disappearing into the woods again—forgetting this had ever happened. She would return to Rufus's office, place the files in their rightful place, and crawl back under his warm embrace like a scorned pet. He would forgive her, and she would forgive him. They would pretend to care for one another, maybe even stop pretending after a while. It would be an easy life.

But it was not that simple. It had never been that simple. It couldn't end here.

With steps half-confident, half-unsure, Rhea strode through the clearing. Deimos turned his wild eyes on her as she approached, an amused smile on his features. "My little spitfire," he said, throwing his arm over the back of the bench. "So glad you could make it."

Rhea stood up straight, grasping tighter to her clutch.

"Don't be shy," he continued, patting the seat beside him. "Come sit."

Awkwardly, she slid in next to him, sitting stalk-straight up.

"Now, I know you didn't let me down," he said. "The files?"

Rhea, remembering the ragged events from the night before, shook off her fear and turned her eyes on him. She unclipped her clutch and pulled out the folded papers, smiling.

"That's my girl," he said, reaching for them. Rhea jerked them away at the last second.

"Hold on. You haven't held up your end of the deal."

Deimos eyed her suspiciously for a moment before breaking a toothy grin and leaning back against the bench. "You haven't changed a bit," he said. "I'm proud of you."

She mirrored his smile. "Tell me what you're going to do with this."

"Well, I would tell you," he began slowly, letting his eyes roam from the top of her head, down to her feet, and back again. "But who's to say you won't turn around and tattle to Shinra about it?"

Rhea scoffed to cover up her muted unease. "You're just going to have to offer me something better."

Deimos clicked his tongue, considering her words for a moment. His eyes now turned to the folded papers, which still lay clutched in her tight grasp. "This conversation is better suited for the HQ," he said at last. "Feel like a field trip?"

* * *

A bead of sweat slipped across his temple, cutting a path down his jaw. When it reached his ear, Rufus awoke with a start. He had to shield his eyes from the blazing sun that sliced through the blinds opposite him. He was lying in his bed, warm with sweat and sunlight, alone. The sheets beside him had been thrown back, an indentation still visible where her head had rested on the pillow. With a soft groan, he rolled onto his back and threw away his own sheets. After a moment of breathing deep and steady, he slipped his legs over the side of the bed and made for the window, slamming the blinds shut. He had slept longer than he'd intended to.

He glanced back at the empty bed behind him. It was customary for Cora to refrain from scheduling appointments the day after the Restoration Gala, but this had been the first time he'd needed it. Apparently, Rhea had not.

Rhea. His body shuddered at the thought of her—a reflex beyond his control. He remembered the vaguely sweet scent of her hair; the way she pinched her bottom lip between her teeth when he touched her; how the undersides of her arms were so much softer than everywhere else. He remembered her gentle touch as she caressed the gnarled scar on his side—the first to have seen it in years. But now she was gone, leaving behind nothing but the memories of her.

Rufus tried to imagine why she might have disappeared. Did she regret what she'd done? Had he offended her in some way? As he'd drifted off to sleep the night before, hand still entangled in the nest of her hair, he had looked forward to waking up beside her. It worried him, perhaps more than it should have, that she had not even spared him a goodbye.

He inhaled deeply and ran a hand through his disheveled hair, pushing the thoughts of her from his mind. After splashing his face with cold water from the bathroom, he pulled on a pair of linen pants and a cotton tee, stopping to retrieve the money clip from his tuxedo jacket on the floor. He pocketed it and headed out into his office, swallowed by blinding midday sun. With half the day already gone, he wanted to at least catch up on the results of the Gala.

Rufus fell into the chair behind his desk and pulled his laptop from the drawer in front of him. He placed it in his lap before kicking his bare feet up on the surface of the desk. He counted the checks leisurely as his computer powered up, pleased with the amount of money they'd collected. He fed each one through the laptop's scanner, depositing the Gil directly into the account designated to the relocation program.

After he'd finished cataloging the donations, Rufus pulled up his schedule. It was empty for the day. He considered for a moment keeping it that way—for once taking the chance to enjoy some time off. But business wouldn't take a break, not even for a day. He picked up the phone and dialed Cora's office. It rang several times before an unfamiliar voice answered.

"Hello Mr. President, Yvonne speaking."

"Yvonne?" Rufus said, surprised. "Where is Cora?"

"She's taken a personal day," Yvonne replied. "She hoped you wouldn't mind, seeing as you don't have any appointments today."

Rufus was silent for a moment. It was unlike Cora to take time off, even when things were slow. Still, she was human, and she had earned a vacation as much as anyone.

"Mr. President?" came Yvonne's voice again. "Would you like me to try her cell?"

"No," he replied. "Thank you Yvonne."

"Certainly sir."

Rufus hung up the phone and lifted his computer out of his lap, setting it on the surface of the desk. He leaned back in his chair and considered the situation. Perhaps this was a sign that he should take the day for himself. He could call Rhea, maybe ask her to lunch. He hoped a meeting with her wouldn't be awkward, considering her quick desertion this morning. He wanted to see her again, to talk and figure out where all of this was going. Should they continue their affair? Was the night before just a mistake? He didn't think so. It hadn't felt like one then, and it didn't feel like one now. He just wanted to _see_ her again.

Just then, Rufus noticed a tiny strip of yellow peeking out from beneath his computer. He lifted the laptop and pulled out a scrap of paper, a hurried note scribbled on its surface:

"_Rufus,_

_Thanks for the company last night. Or should you be thanking me? Got to run, sorry._

_Rhea"_

Strangely, he felt a bit relieved after reading the rushed letter. Though the message was vague and a bit cheeky, he could sense no contempt in it. He only hoped that she might be open to seeing him again, to at least discuss their circumstances and come to a mutual conclusion about it all.

Rufus stared at the letter for a while, studying her scribbled handwriting and the way the swash of her R's flowed across the page. Before he could change his mind, he picked up the phone and dialed.

* * *

Rhea felt as though she were walking through a portrait of her past. Night washed over the slums of Edge quicker than it should have, leaving the shanties and lean-to's looking like shaded gargoyles, lit only by the faint glow of a street light here or there. She glided along behind Deimos, who had been joined by two armed lackeys when they entered the slums. People were closing their doors and windows as they passed. Thought she lived not far outside of this area for years, it seemed somehow foreign to her now, washed in artificial light and silent as a graveyard.

Rhea stopped walking as she felt her clutch vibrate. She opened it to reveal her phone, lit with Rufus's name.

"Important call?"

Rhea looked up to see that Deimos had stopped and turned, watching her. She shook her head and rejected the call, snapping her clutch closed. Deimos smirked.

"We're almost there," he said, turning back around. Rhea moved to catch up, following them into a darkened alley.

Deimos stopped in front of a solid metal door in the middle of the backstreet. There were no distinguishing features or lights to denote it. He lifted his hand and knocked on it: first three times, then two, then once. A moment later, a peep hole slid back, revealing a single dark eye. It closed almost instantly, and the door creaked open a crack. The two lackeys entered, and Deimos motioned for Rhea to do so as well. She obliged. After Deimos came in, the guard, armed with a large pistol, closed the door and slid a huge bar lock into place.

Rhea followed the lackeys down a dark passageway lined with doors: an old apartment complex, just like their old headquarters. As they moved deeper into the facility, Rhea caught the faint smell of sweetness on the air—Mako. It made her sick. They passed an open doorway, and she looked in. A pair of men were heating Mako in two large vats, stirring it with steel rods.

"Once it reaches its boiling point, it can be molded into projectiles," Deimos explained as they walked. "Just as easy as making the drug, only much more lucrative."

Rhea did not respond. She covered her nose and mouth with her hand.

They climbed a staircase a few stories up, entering a brighter hallway with what looked like living quarters leading off of it. Near the end, the lackeys stopped and flanked a steel door, hands on their weapons. Deimos came around her and opened it. She followed him inside, and Deimos bolted the door behind her.

Several computer monitors glowed brightly. Deimos flipped the light switch on, illuminating the room with a dull glow. There was a small bed in the corner, and a doorway leading to a bathroom, but the computer seemed to be the important fixture. Deimos reclined in the seat in front of it, motioning to the bed. Rhea sat on the edge of it.

"Now," he said. "What do you want to know?"

Rhea was silent for a moment. Everything, she thought. _Everything_.

"What are you going to use these files for?" she asked instead, hand on her purse.

"The reactors," he replied slowly. "They've been unused for years, but rumor has it they're still functional. However, we also know that there were several fail-safes implemented to prevent tampering should all systems be shut off." He pointed to her clutch. "Those files detail all of them. And, in turn, how to override them."

Deimos tapped a few keys on the keyboard behind him, bringing up the blueprint for a reactor that spanned all of the screens. "We've been tapping into all the pipes left above ground," he continued, "but they're starting to run dry. We've only got half the Mako we need."

"Need…? Need for what?"

Deimos considered the question for a moment. He tilted his head to the side, looking at her up and down as he'd done in the park. Rhea felt violated by such a glance, as if he were looking into some secret part of her, discovering the doubts and uncertainty that hid beneath the surface.

Deimos opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by a loud knock: three, two, one. He got up and unbolted the door. A shadow moved into the room, silhouetted by the light in the hall. Deimos bolted the door again, and the womanly figure moved into the center of the room. As the dim glow from the computer screens climbed up her body, Rhea felt her stomach turn.

"Hello, Rhea. Good to see you've joined the cause."

Wide-eyed, Rhea stared at the woman for several long moments before uttering her reply: "…_Cora?_"


	10. Responsibility

**AN: **Trying to get these uploaded a little faster! Don't want the plot to stagnate. Please R&amp;R if you're enjoying the story. Feedback is the best thing you can ever give a writer!

* * *

The expression that grew on Cora's features was unlike any Rhea had ever seen on her. She was smirking, eyes narrowed and lips curved sharply at the edges, as if she were fighting shameful amusement. Rhea had barely recognized her out of her Shinra uniform, now wearing tight leather pants and a hooded trench coat. Her smile grew as Deimos wrapped his arm around her waist.

"That's right," Deimos said. "Cora and I met after I awoke from my coma—both of us left homeless by Meteor and the mess left in Shinra's wake. Together we formed the new Hydra."

"But…but you…" Rhea stammered, gawking at the woman. She didn't know how she hadn't figured it out sooner. It was the perfect plan. Infiltrate Shinra and bring it down from the inside. But why hadn't they yet? Cora must have had thousands of opportunities to kidnap or kill Rufus. Why were they still holding back?

"Cora was originally assigned to do what you did," Deimos continued, "but no chemistry every sparked. Even with her clearance, Cora was never allowed access to the president's office without him there. Rather than risk her getting fired, we decided to hold out for a more promising opportunity."

Rhea looked from Cora to Deimos. Both wore the same evil grin. "Why didn't you just kill him and take the files yourself?" Rhea blurted. The panic in her mind removed the filter from her words. Cora stifled a laugh, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Because, Rhea," said Deimos. "This is so much bigger than that." He released his grip on Cora's waist and moved toward where Rhea sat on the bed. "How do you think we've been able to survive as long as we have?" he asked, stopping mere inches from her. Rhea averted her gaze and shook her head. Deimos suddenly took her chin roughly in his hand, bringing her eyes back to him. She gasped and trembled. "Because up until we found you, no one even knew we existed." Rhea looked into the swirling depths of his blind eye, her reflection staring back at her in its glassy surface. He released her and spun away. "Hydra got too cocky before," he continued. "We thought nobody could touch us. It cost us dearly." He turned back to her and tapped the white lock that fell across his forehead. "You, me, and Reno were the only ones to escape that fate. That's why we have to strike back. That's why we have to stay alive, no matter what the cost."

"You mean… Reno…?"

Deimos shook his head. "I'm afraid he's a lost cause. A traitor. In too deep to glean him back from Shinra." He paused, eyes boring into her. "I hope it's not too late for you, my little spitfire. I was beginning to worry you might actually be in love with that chump of a president."

Rhea tensed up, her throat going dry. Thoughts wheeled around her mind like thousands of frightened animals, struggling to get out. Half of her wanted to stand up and put another bullet in his head, but the other half, the half of her that had never fully recovered, wanted nothing more than his approval and acceptance.

"So?" Deimos said at last, coming back to stand before her, extending his hand. "Are you in?"

Rhea looked at the cracked and worn surface of his palm. She knew, no matter how much she had come to care for Rufus, no matter how much he had done to protect her and heal her old wounds, it was much too late for her to return to him. For now, as it had been some twelve years before, it was Hydra or die.

She slipped her hand into his, feeling his rough skin close tightly around it.

* * *

Gunfire echoed off the walls of the firing range, each shot swallowing up the sound of the one before it. The blasts were muffled by the ear protection he wore, but the flash of the muzzle shone brightly with each round fired. Rufus flexed his index finger back and forth in rapid succession, holding his wrist steady to absorb the recoil. He fired until the magazine clicked empty. The lights came up and the target flew down the range, riddled with holes in its cardboard head and chest. Rufus removed his earmuffs and safety glasses, inspecting his work.

He jumped at the sound of a slow clapping echoing off the cold stone walls. He wheeled around, hand on the fresh magazine clipped to his belt. Rufus relaxed as the visitor came into the light: Tseng.

"I think you might have beaten my record, Mr. President," he said, smiling.

"Tseng," Rufus said. "You should know better than to sneak up on me in here." He spun away, raising his handgun and releasing the spent magazine into his hand. He placed it on the shelf in front of him.

"I apologize, sir," Tseng said, taking a few steps forward. "I'm simply here to report on our investigation."

Rufus slammed a fresh magazine into the gun. He turned to the Turk. "Have you found something?"

"I wasn't able to locate her current whereabouts, and Rude tells me she didn't attend to her class today," Tseng explained. "However, we heard reports from some of our informants saying they saw a woman matching her description in the slums last night. They wouldn't say who she was with."

Rufus turned toward the range again and racked the slide on his 9mm, pushing a round into the chamber. "Can we trust these informants?" he asked, low and steady.

"I have no reason not to," Tseng replied.

Rufus flipped the switch to send the targets back down the range. "Then why wouldn't they say who she was with?"

"I have a feeling they were spooked."

Rufus turned his head a bit, catching Tseng's worried expression out of the corner of his eye. He pursed his lips and thumbed the safety of his handgun. He knew what Tseng meant, but a part of him refused to believe it.

"I advise a thorough internal investigation," Tseng continued. The tone of his voice was respectful, as always.

"Is that your professional opinion, Tseng?" Rufus asked. The Turk nodded. "And what would your personal opinion be?"

"I might check even a bit closer to home," Tseng replied.

Rufus exhaled long and slow, his chest growing concave from the force of it. After a beat of silence, he flipped his earmuffs over his head and pulled on his glasses. "That'll be all, Tseng," he said, raising his weapon.

Tseng gave a curt bow. "Yes, sir." He turned and swept out of the firing range. When Rufus heard the muffled sound of the door closing, he unleashed a barrage of rounds, no longer caring whether or not he hit his target.

* * *

Rhea paused her brisk walk home to stop in front of the Materia shop. She lost track of time standing in front of the building, the place she'd once lived for several painful months, too sick to even feed herself. It was now boarded up, its neon sign dimmed to black. There were several eviction notices posted on the front door. She was ashamed. In only two months, her life had been flipped upside down, only to be turned inside out in an instant. Nothing was the way it was supposed to be, but she never really understood what that had meant in the first place. Was she always meant to leave her old life behind? Was she really supposed to fall in love with Rufus? Had Deimos been destined to return to her life all along? She felt as though she were living out the book of her life, only someone else was holding the pen.

A siren blared in the distance. Rhea turned her head down the street to watch a police car fly by. She remembered the paranoia that had once surged through her at those sounds, and how it had crept back into her mind now that she found herself associated with Hydra again. She had spent the day with Deimos and Cora, adjusting herself to the headquarters and the new roles she would be taking on. It was determined that she would continue to play her part as a double agent, keeping herself close to Rufus should they have need for him again. When she had asked Deimos what future roles she would play in their plans, he bottled up.

"It's best we don't divulge too much information," he'd said. "If your cover is blown, we don't want the whole operation going to shit."

"So what am I supposed to do?" Rhea had asked, desperate for some sort of mental foothold one way or the other.

"Just sit tight for now," Deimos told her. "We'll contact you again soon with new directives."

With that, he'd sent her on her way, alone and directionless. It felt much like it had those twelve years ago, when she'd been freed from Hydra for the first time. She was unsure about what to do next. She didn't feel she had enough dirt on their plans to reveal them to Rufus, and even if she did, they might still have time to cut off and go underground before Shinra could root them out. On the other hand, Deimos had promised her protection and acceptance, something she'd pined for since the death of her parents. Thought it was Rufus who had been the first one to offer these things to her, Deimos had made Rhea feel like a traitor for accepting them. In the four years she'd spent with Hydra as a child, she'd been brainwashed into thinking they were a family, and that Shinra was the enemy. While age and a sober mind had suppressed those notions, Deimos's untimely return brought them boiling to the surface again. She was unsure of what "loyalty" really meant anymore.

Dusk was settling down over the slums, and Rhea hurried through the streets to return to her apartment. She'd missed her class that day—it hadn't even crossed her mind while she'd been with Deimos, but she would have to continue attending if she were to maintain her cover. It also meant she would have to keep up communications with Rufus. Any more suspicious activity might bring the Turks snooping.

She jogged across town, dipping through alleys and back streets until she came upon her apartment. After a swift ride in the elevator and a swipe of her keycard, Rhea pushed open the door to her home, throwing her keys on the counter. She turned her eyes to the living room as the door clicked closed behind her, and almost screamed at the sight.

A head of blonde hair peeked over the top of her sofa, a cigarette hanging from the hand that lay thrown over the back of it. Rufus turned his head to her before he stood, taking a drag from his cigarette. Rhea crunched her hands into fists.

"How did you get in here?" she asked, words dripping with contempt.

Rufus pulled his free hand from his pocket, a black card slipped between his fingers. "Master key," he said simply.

"And what do you want?" There was no inquisitive inflection in her voice—pure demand.

"You haven't been answering my calls."

"I've been busy."

Rufus moved around the couch, slipping his hand into his pocket again. "You didn't report to your class today."

"Do you keep tabs on all your hookups?" she asked. "Or just the ones on your dime?"

He moved closer to her now, gliding across the floor like a spirit. "I was worried about you."

There was sincerity in the reply, but it didn't satisfy her. "Why?" she said, voice a low whisper. "Why do you get to do this to me?"

"Because…" he said, taking a drag from his cigarette, eyes alight in the flare of the embers. "Because it's my responsibility to look after you. And because you don't seem to realize how much—" He stopped himself, lips twitching into a tight line.

"How much what?"

The wheels of thought turned in his eyes, desperately trying to backtrack over the words that fell between the cracks of silence. "How much you're hurting yourself."

It was Rhea now that looked at him with pity, her head giving a slow, disappointed shake. "What do you know about hurt, Rufus Shinra?"

His chest filled with a dignified breath, his arm falling to his side. "I don't know," he said, slow and deliberate. "Maybe nothing. But I know what it looks like." His fingers twitched with intent, but no action followed. "I just want you to know… You don't have to hurt if you don't want to."

Rhea wished he would just take her into his arms, wished he would hold her so tight that she ceased to exist on her own. "I don't want to be your _responsibility_."

"Then prove it."

Rhea clamped her tongue between her jaws until it hurt. There were so many things she wanted to say to him, both good and bad. She wanted to yell and scream and cry and laugh with him, to lay suspended in some alternate reality where only they existed. But she realized that she had no idea how to give him what he wanted, or what he wanted at all.

Rhea flinched as Rufus suddenly lifted his arm, fingertips stretching out toward her face. He paused before pushing a lock of hair behind her ear. His eyes fell to the angry scar that exposed itself, brushing his thumb across it, cigarette crackling softly beside her ear.

"Help yourself," he said softly. "If you don't want my help, then help yourself."

She leaned into his touch, loving it and hating it at the same time. It was cold—always cold, and always fleeting. Just as soon as it had come, it left, fallen away and brought back to his lips to inhale from his cigarette. It was never enough.

He moved by her, smothering his cigarette in the ash tray that lay on her counter. She imagined what it would feel like if he had put it out on her skin, twisting it into the crook of her elbow until the embers cauterized her nerve endings. That pain would be better than accepting the emptiness that was slowly creeping into her heart.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Rufus move toward the exit. She didn't have the will to turn to him, even when she heard door creak open. The room was silent for many moments. She felt the cooler air from the hall slip into the room, bringing a shiver to her bare legs. Finally, two muffled footsteps broke the air, followed shortly thereafter by the creak and slam of the door.


	11. Initiation

**AN: **Phew! Finally an update. It was finals/graduation this past week so I didn't have a whole lot of time to write. This chapter is also really action heavy, so it was kind of a pain to edit. Hope it's not too boring! Please review, follow, or favorite if you enjoyed. Hopefully I'll have another chapter by the end of the week!

* * *

Rhea dipped out of her apartment and glided down the fire escape at the end of the hall. It spit her out in an alley on ground level, slick with falling rain, and she surveyed her surroundings carefully before setting off. She was dressed in all black, hood thrown over her head and hair tucked up tightly so as not to show her most defining feature. She knew the Turks would be on high alert. She had seen the glare of their binoculars in the buildings across the street and sensed their prying eyes on her whenever she left her building.

She'd waited nearly a week for any word from Hydra, and had finally received a cryptic text message instructing her to make her way to the headquarters the next day. In that week, She'd had nothing but time to think, mostly about what Rufus had said to her at their last encounter. She was always astounded by how he could see right through her, past her flesh and bones and into the true intentions that lashed around in her mind. She had tried to hide her double life from him, justifying it by reminding herself that it wasn't ready to be revealed—not yet. But he knew. She was sure of it.

Rhea tried to imagine why he was holding back. Perhaps, beyond his better judgment, he trusted her—believed she would come forward when the time was right. For a while, she thought she might too, but things were getting complicated. Hydra's grand scheme remained closely guarded, and her role in it had yet to be revealed. She had a feeling tonight might be her last chance to escape Hydra's iron clutches before they closed around her for good.

With her head down, Rhea barely noticed the transition from Edge to its slums. In the bright light of the sun and viewed from her balcony, that line was as obvious as night and day. But now, as she found herself winding through the rain-drenched alleys and between rusted shanties, it all became a blur. She had lived here not two months earlier, but even in that time, things had changed. It was not so much different on the surface, but rather in its nuances—the way the wind whistled through empty buildings, a storefront riddled with bullet holes, the soft bumping of a broken shutter against a window frame: all things she wouldn't have noticed back then, but that now seemed to consume and unnerve her.

When she came upon Hydra's barred-up headquarters, she knocked on the steel door (two, one, three—the password had been changed). The peephole slid back and an eye peered down at her. "Were you followed?" said the voice from within. She shook her head.

The peephole slammed closed and in a moment, the door creaked open just wide enough for her to slip through. The guard bolted it back before turning around. "Leader is waiting for you one floor below," he said. Rhea nodded and set off for the stairs.

Her heels clacked on the cold cement of the stairwell, path lit only by a single flickering light on each floor. She descended two landings before coming on a door marked "BASEMENT." She pulled it open and stepped into the dark room beyond. A flashlight was turned on her almost immediately, blinding her. She held her hands to her eyes as its owner approached. When the light was finally lowered, Deimos came into view.

"Glad you could make it," he said in a low voice. "Didn't encounter any rats on way I hope?"

Again, Rhea shook her head, though she wasn't entirely sure if that was true. She'd followed the old runner protocols that Hydra had once taught her: take an unmarked route, double back twice, and enter a building at least once. If the Turks managed to follow her, perhaps they deserved their prize.

Deimos smiled with approval. The gesture filled her with a strange sense of pride. Despite nearly twelve years of separation, she still remembered the old Hydra customs. Suddenly, footsteps approached from the distance, another flashlight bobbing nearby. Cora emerged from the shadows, flanked by two lackeys. She recognized them as the men who had escorted her to the headquarters the first time. One had wild blonde hair that was shaved on one side, and the other wore blacked-out goggles, despite it being pitch-dark inside the basement. They were each carrying black bags slung across their shoulders, though Rhea could only wonder at their contents.

Deimos nodded to them before turning back to Rhea. "Are you ready for your next assignment?" he asked.

"That depends," she replied. "What do I have to do?"

Deimos turned back into the darkness behind him. He shined his flashlight toward the other end of the basement, the ray illuminating a caved-in wall that led into a red-tinted tunnel beyond. "That leads to the old railroad tracks," he began, "and the tracks lead straight into Reactor 3." He turned back and smiled. "We've figured out how to override the system. All we need to do is get inside."

Rhea watched him as he spoke, the sharp edges of his face illuminated by the dim glow of the flashlights. She could tell by the way his lips twitched that he was hiding something. It was dawning on her now that Deimos likely had much more planned for her than just entertaining Rufus and stealing obsolete Shinra files. He had lured her with the promise of something greater, but instead, she'd simply fallen into his trap.

Cora took a step forward, her eyes narrowed at Rhea in the dark. "Are you ready?"

The words sent a shiver down her spine. She concealed it with a deep breath and another curt nod.

"Good," Deimos said. He jerked his head at Cora, who turned and led the two lackeys toward the back of the basement. He then turned to Rhea and smiled again. No pride surged through her this time. He motioned for her to fall in behind the henchmen and, with anxious steps, she obliged.

Rhea followed the pair as they vaulted the rubble of the caved-in wall, dropping down onto the gravel and haggard metal of the train tracks on the other side. Cora was already heading toward the red glow further down the tunnel. Wires hung from the ceiling and some of the support columns were crumbling pitifully. Rhea hurried to follow the henchmen, Deimos close behind. She felt his eyes on her, searching for any sign of unwillingness. She wore her best brave façade, though she knew she was moving closer to a noxious fate with each careful step. Once again, she had backed herself into a corner, and this time she might be forced to claw her way out.

As they walked, Rhea counted the number of red emergency lights they passed. She was in between number fourteen and fifteen when Cora suddenly stopped and walked toward the outer wall of the tunnel. She knelt down beside it and shined her light into a crawlspace that was no wider than the length of her arm. It led downward at a sharp 45-degree angle. She turned to Deimos, who had come to a stop beside Rhea. He nodded his head once. At this, Cora took her flashlight into her mouth and grabbed the top of the crawlspace, guiding herself feet-first into its dark depths. When her head disappeared, the lackeys followed.

Deimos nudged Rhea forward after they had descended. She grasped the pipe that ran along the top of the crawlspace before slipping her legs down into it. She guided herself into the darkness, sounds of bodies shuffling enveloping her ears. The quivering glow of Deimos's flashlight illuminated the half-shaven head of the lackey in front of her, allowing her to see where she was going. Soon, a light appeared at the end of the duct, but Rhea could not see the path of the crawlspace beyond it. She stopped to get her bearings, peering down carefully. The head of the henchman suddenly fell out of sight. She gasped, but heard no sign of panic from below. Deimos's foot landed on her shoulder.

"Go on," he called down. "It's safe."

Rhea took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and released the pipe overhead. She slid down the rest of the crawlspace, the duct over her head disappearing completely. A pipe remained beneath her, acting as a slide to carry her down to ground level. Cora and the henchmen waited for her at the bottom, and she bent her knees to bear the impact that came soon after. With a few running steps, she slowed herself and leveled out, straightening her clothes just as Deimos landed behind her.

As Rhea looked around the huge room they'd landed in, it was not her eyes that were occupied, but rather her nose: it tingled with the familiar scent of Mako, sweet like rotten fruit and misting the air with its green-blue glow. It clung to the pipes, scaffolds, and wires that stretched up out of sight, all rusted and creaking in the darkness. It had only been five years since Midgar was abandoned, but that time had taken its toll. The entire structure looked as though it were ready to cave in on itself, despite its enormous size.

Deimos came to stand beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We're almost there," he said.

Rhea didn't have the heart to ask what would happen when they arrived at their destination.

Cora and the henchmen led the way across the dark, misty floor. Their lights reflected off the vaporized Mako and made it look thicker than it was. It stung Rhea's eyes as she walked, tears welling up in an attempt to keep out the intrusion. When they reached a small doorway, it opened onto more ducting leading to a series of ladders and pipes. Deimos shined his flashlight into the depths, and Rhea could barely make out the dark silhouette of a catwalk below, suspended over an empty chasm that seemed to have no end. Carefully, the group of them scaled down the pipes and ladders until they reached the catwalk. A single door stood bolted shut beside them, and at the other end lay a huge, vertically-oriented pipe that ran down to into the chasm and up through the darkness above them. Cora led the way to it, and Rhea obediently followed.

Though she couldn't see the source of it, the scent of Mako was strong in this room. It turned her stomach. She was forced to cover her nose and mouth as they walked. None of the others seemed as sensitive to the smell as her. She was failing, and it frightened her.

When they reached the enormous pipe, Rhea saw that it had a large wheel attached to it. Both lackeys moved to stand on either side of it, each pulling in the opposite direction until the wheel began to move, slowly retracting two iron bars from a section of the pipe. When the wheel cranked as far as it would go, an ear-splitting sound echoed through the reactor, and the pipe separated a few feet, slamming into place with a loud _thunk_.

Rhea turned to look at Deimos, a wild expression growing across his worn features. He looked like a demon in the soft red glow of the emergency beams and harshness of the flashlights. Rhea fell away as he moved passed her, walking to the edge of the pipe that now sat level with the catwalk. He stood for many moments peering down into it, and Rhea barely noticed the lackeys removing their bags and digging through them, too focused on the way Deimos was quivering with zeal.

He turned to her, where she stood with her hand still covering her mouth, eyes watering.

"This is it, Rhea," he said, voice carrying through the stagnant air surrounding them. "Are you ready?"

She froze. The words seemed to fall from his mouth, slithering down his body, across the ground, wrapping around her legs and torso, boring into her ears like a disease. They were the words he so loved to utter to her in the dark those twelve years ago, fingers twitching around a fresh syringe, the sweet, sickly smell clinging to the walls like cancer. They were the words that told her it was time to submit—time to become a slave.

Shame and fear and terror took her, and she lowered her hand. "What do I have to do?"

Deimos approached as the lackeys began pulling on elaborate harnesses and threading them with thick cords. "The reactor has been dormant for a long time," Deimos began. "The Mako has drained into a storage tank that is completely isolated to keep the entire facility from melting down. The only way into that tank is through this pipe, and a system of ducts that feed into it from below."

Rhea averted her eyes only for a moment, watching as a third harness was removed from one of the lackey's bags.

"Your job is to get into that tank and overload the grid keeping the Mako trapped in there," Deimos continued.

"How?"

Deimos chuckled. "Nothing too elaborate." He turned around and held out his hand, into which a lackey placed a small orb no bigger than a low-level piece of Materia. It glowed a faint-blue green, but Rhea noticed it had a pin and handle similar to a grenade. "One of our newest creations," Deimos explained. "All you have to do is pull this pin and toss it into the Mako, and the explosion should force it back into the main tank. It'll flow into the pipes throughout the city and we'll be ready to start harvesting again."

Rhea shivered with doubt. "Why me?" she asked softly, her voice muted by fear.

"Consider it your last initiation," Deimos replied, his lips curled into a cruel smile. "After this, you'll be fully integrated into our ranks. I might even make you third in command."

Rhea bit down hard on the inside of her cheek, pushing away the dread that had crept into her limbs, causing them to quake. She swallowed a thin stream of blood before offering a small, timid nod. Deimos bared his teeth. Behind him, Cora smiled as well.

"Prax, Oster," Deimos barked. The two henchmen stood up straight. "Get her ready." The pair moved toward her swiftly, holding out the harness for her to step in. She did so, and they tightened the straps till she could barely breathe. They hooked carabineers to metal loops on her shoulders and waist, tying knots in the Kevlar cord to attach themselves to her. The one with the goggles strapped the Mako grenade to her shoulder before turning her around and pushing her to the edge of the pipe. She stared down into its dark depths for what seemed like hours before turning back to the group of them. Cora was grinning wildly, rejoicing in Rhea's panic. One of the lackeys threw the excess cord down into the pipe, both of them wrapping their own ends around the railings on either side of the catwalk. After they had secured them to their harnesses, they nodded at Rhea.

With a deep, quivering breath, Rhea pulled the cord taut and stepped off the back of the catwalk, pressing both of her feet into the side of the pipe. She looked over her shoulder, her heart beating wildly up into her throat as she lay suspended over the utter darkness below. She took too more careful steps, the cord slipping through the loops on her harness. She moved her hands down it as she walked, watching as the room above disappeared behind the wall of the pipe. Deimos came to the edge and looked down on her.

"Good," he hissed to her. "The entrance to the overflow tank should be about twenty meters down. Tug on the cord when you've reached it. Tug twice when you've detonated the bomb, and three times when you need to come back up."

Rhea nodded one more time before continuing to rappel down the side of the pipe. With each step, the air grew thicker and sweeter. As the light at the opening grew smaller, her breaths became shallower. She felt as though she were shrinking down to the size of an ant, ready to be squashed by the menacing foot of her own mistakes.

Every few feet, Rhea glanced behind her to see if the entrance to the tank was in sight. A flashlight flickered overhead, blinding her view of the surface but illuminating the walls of the pipe for her. She craned her neck to look downward and spotted a dark opening a few feet below. She dropped down quickly until she was level with it, then tugged once on the cord. With another deep breath, Rhea crouched down against the wall of the pipe and immediately pushed off hard, sending her straight across the pipe, airborne. She flipped in the air and reached for the edge of the duct, just barely grabbing onto it with one hand. She cried out as her body slammed against the side of the pipe, the sound echoing down into the dark depths and high above. Gritting her teeth, she pulled herself into the opening, big enough only for her to crawl.

Rhea looked down at her knees, scraped from the impact of the landing. She ignored the throbbing pain and started down the duct, a soft green glow coming from the end of it. Hurriedly, she crawled toward it, heart still pounding away in her chest. Rust and Mako stung at her knees, but she pressed on until she came to the very edge of it. It stopped abruptly, a sheer drop over the stirring, swirling tank of Mako below. She reached behind her and tugged the cord twice, then pulled off the grenade that had been strapped to her shoulder.

Rhea sat back on her heels and reached to pull the pin. She closed her eyes for a brief moment, knowing she would have to act fast to crawl out of the duct before the Mako surged up and swallowed her. She exhaled sharply before yanking the pin out, and had just coiled her hand back to throw the object when the rusting edge of the duct gave way beneath her. The air shot out of her lungs and she plummeted several feet before the cord snapped taut, stopping her. The live grenade fell out of her hand and tumbled down the side of the tank, landing with a light splash in the Mako that was now no more than thirty feet below her. Frantically, Rhea tried to orient herself, grasping wildly at the cord and pulling it with no regard to timing or frequency. Below her, the sound of a muted explosion rocked the tank, the surface of the Mako splashing around in its wake. With worn hands and aching legs, Rhea pulled herself up against the now trembling walls of the tank, reaching for the collapsed edge of the duct. A siren sounded through the room and the emergency lights flickered wildly, the sound of moving Mako growing ever more prominent.

"Help!" she cried up through the duct, hanging pitifully a few feet below it. "Hurry!" There was too much slack in the cord—she couldn't properly pull herself into the duct no matter how hard she tried. The smell of Mako engulfed her senses and with a cry of fear, Rhea looked down to see waves of it surging up the sides of the tank like hungry animals. Her eyes grew wide, and her fingernails scraped into the rusted metal, desperately trying to save her own skin. The cord suddenly pulled taut, but it was too late. Screaming, Rhea felt the first cold wave of Mako slip around her legs and up to her chin, swallowing her cries. The gush and flow of it ragdolled her up to the ceiling of the tank, scraping her legs and arms and shoulders against the rusted edges of it. Rhea's eyes grew black at the edges as the Mako consumed her, lungs shriveling without oxygen. The cord suddenly pulled her at the waist, sucking her toward the duct which rushed with swelling Mako—much too late. Her head grew heavy and lolled down, eyes slowly falling closed.

In the darkness, the spirits whispered to her, sounding like dripping water amidst a rushing ocean.


	12. Turning Back

**AN: **Woohoo! Quick update. I have a lot of time now that I don't have to worry about school 24/7. Don't worry, Rufus makes his return in this chapter. Hope you enjoy it. Leave a review, favorite, or follow if you did.

* * *

It was dark.

Rhea's eyes were closed, but she could feel it around her, cloaking her, swallowing her. She was suspended in nothingness as if held up by thousands of hands. Voices hissed everywhere and in all directions, their words mostly unintelligible but incredibly unnerving. They were joyful, angry, and sad all at once. Rhea curled into herself, too afraid to open her eyes or answer any of the whispers that called out to her.

"Please," she cried. "Please, stop…"

Her fingers dug into the skin of her shoulders, cold and taut around her bones. The voices grew louder, whispering sorrowful, beautiful, and terrible things.

"Please—!"

Her voice caught in her throat at the feel of warm skin against her forehead. Almost immediately, her eyes flew open, met with a moonlit face and a gentle smile.

Rufus dragged his fingertips over her forehead and down her cheek, tucking his palm around it like he so loved to do. They were lying in his bed, his head resting on the pillow beside her, sheets slipping away from his shoulder as he moved closer.

A tremor still surged through Rhea's body, but her fingers relaxed and fell from her shoulders. She took a deep breath. When her eyes fell closed for a brief moment, she swore she still heard whispers in the corner of her mind.

"I had the most terrible dream," she said, her lips barely moving.

Rufus did not reply, but rather twisted his hand in her hair and pulled his fingertips through it. He brought a handful of her locks to his nose and took a deep breath before setting his hand back on the pillow between them.

"Rufus…" she said, her voice seeming to echo in the empty room—or perhaps it was in her mind.

Again he did not reply. Instead, his dreamy eyes fell closed, and the smile slowly fell from his lips.

"Rufus, can you hear me?"

Asleep.

She would not have worried, but she was almost shouting now and still he would not wake. She lifted her arm and reached to shake his shoulder, but her hand passed right through him. She panicked.

Behind her, the room began to fill with warm light. She pushed herself upright, only to see her own body still lying beneath her, sound asleep. Frantically, she glanced around the room, just in time to see the sun rising over the city from the window on the other side of the room. She nearly screamed when she saw her own body stir on the bed beneath her. She reached out to touch it, but again her hands fell through it, as if she were a spirit.

The body on the bed stared at the sleeping Rufus for several moments before it rose, and Rhea moved out of its way, standing beside it as it moved across Rufus's suite. She watched it tie up its hair and dress itself, all the while Rufus lay sound asleep on the bed. Suddenly, she realized. She panicked when she saw herself make for the door.

"No!" Rhea cried out to the body. "No, stop!"

She tried to block her body from leaving the room, but it passed through her once again. She turned to see it open the door, looking longingly through her, straight back at Rufus.

"Don't go!" she called to the body, but its empty eyes would not acknowledge her. "Don't leave him!"

Too late. It slipped through the crack in the door, and with the slam of its closing came a blinding flash of light. The whispers again grew to thunderous volumes, and Rhea covered her ears and eyes with her arms, collapsing into a ball on the ground. Frantically, desperately the voices fought to be heard, all overlapping one another, sounding like earsplitting static.

"_Don't be afraid!_"

This voice hushed them all. It was soft and familiar, but commanded a powerful tone that chased away the menacing whispers. The silence that followed was almost equally deafening. Rhea felt warm light on her eyelids, and with hesitance, she slowly opened them. Whiteness surrounded her for as far as she could see—a never-ending ocean of it. She was sitting, but on what she wasn't sure, hugging her knees to her chest like she used to when she was a child. She peered around for several moments before her eyes finally caught sight of movement. In the distance, a figure seemed to materialize out of nowhere, cloaked in light even whiter than that which surrounded her. Only when the figure grew nearer did she recognize the waterfall of red hair that flowed behind her, warm brown eyes visible from several feet away. She was smiling.

Rhea mirrored that smile, and though she wished to rush out to meet her mother, her body remained rooted to the spot. Slowly, Claire came to a stop a mere arm's length away and dropped to sit before her daughter.

In a slow crescendo, the whispers returned, but they existed now only in her mother's voice. Claire's lips did not move, but somehow Rhea knew the voice belonged to her. It was hard to make out the messages she sent, all tumbling over one another, a babbling river of words. They were all things she had said, or would have said to Rhea, had she still been alive—words of love and admiration, of disappointment and scolding. Rhea cherished every single one of them. She made memories there in the presence of these whispers, constructed years of missing time lost in the wake of her mother's death. It was a false life, but a beautiful one. She imagined that they celebrated birthdays, watched sunsets and sunrises together, labored over homework, fought about jobs and money and superfluous things. A lifetime flew by in an instant. When she finally imagined her mother dying a quiet death of old age, watching the last of her grateful breaths leaving her lungs, Rhea slowly closed her eyes, and as if her dream had come true, the whispers stopped. The light left her eyelids and she felt herself fall back into darkness again. One last time, her mother's voice broke through the silence:

"_Don't be afraid."_

And she wasn't.

When Rhea finally opened her eyes again, she was greeted with the familiar sights and sounds of Hydra's headquarters. She was lying in the bed in Deimos's chambers, alone. She was not sure whether or not she was relieved the dream had ended. She could only be thankful that she had survived—that she had been allowed to live another day. Her body ached from the trauma experienced in the reactor, and there were bruises and wounds dotting her limbs like blooming flowers. With a soft groan, she attempted to lift her body upwards, but it would not move. It took her several painful moments to realize it was because her limbs had been strapped down to the bed.

Panicking, she pulled hard against the padded restraints, rattling the chains that had been wrapped around the bedframe beneath her. The noise soon attracted footsteps outside the door. A ray of light cut across her face as it opened, and Deimos entered, wild eyes set upon her.

"You're awake," he said, with some relief in his voice. "Good. I was worried we might have lost you down there."

Rhea pulled against the chains again. "Why am I—what are you—?"

Deimos swept over to her, laying his hands against her shoulders. "No, no, you mustn't move," he cooed, the tone of his voice sending a shiver down her spine. "Your body is in extreme shock from the Mako."

"I'm fine!" she hissed. "Let me up."

Deimos clicked his tongue and turned away, walking toward the desk that sat on the other side of the room. "Listen to you," he said. "You don't even know what you're saying. Poor thing. I never should have made you do what you did."

He pulled out one of the desk drawers and rummaged for a moment. A shadow grew across the wall as he held up a thin object, inspecting it in the dim light.

She froze.

A sweet scent filled the air, so pungent she could almost _see _it. Deimos turned around, and the soft glow of blue-green lit up his palm, clenched around a syringe. Rhea fought frantically against her restraints, cutting deep gashes into her wrists. "No!" she cried, pushing herself as far away from him as she could.

"Don't worry, my little spitfire," Deimos whispered, white eye locked on her, striking fear into her heart. "This will make you feel better, I promise. It always does."

"_No!_" He was within inches of her now, the fine needle of the syringe turned out, dripping sweet liquid. He took hold of her arm with his free hand, turning it over until the soft flesh was exposed, tiny scars puckering into deep blue veins. Rhea screamed as he lowered the syringe, but she had no strength to fight back. Slowly, he lowered the needle to her arm, and she felt her flesh depress in resistance.

"Are you ready?"

The needle broke the skin, blue blood oxidizing bright red, mingling with the warm Mako as it pushed out of the syringe and into her body. She screamed and kicked and pulled, but it was too late.

She looked up at the figure looming above her, and her heart stopped when her eyes met with Rufus's deep blue ones staring back.

A huge breath surged through her lungs and she sat bolt upright, arms flailing wildly to push away the arms that held her. Her clothes were wet, her hair stuck to her forehead and neck, matted with sweet-smelling liquid. She cast her eyes around wildly, relieved to find herself back on the catwalk above the Mako reactor. Nothing told her that it wasn't just another dream, but somehow she knew—it was over.

Cora and the two lackeys stood over her, their gazes half-concerned. Behind them, Deimos stood at the edge of the catwalk, leaning dangerously far over the railing. The sound of rushing Mako could be heard below, and the room was slowly filling with a soft green light. She had succeeded.

When he'd seen his fill, Deimos turned his eyes on her. He smiled widely and swept over to her, grasping her shoulders. "You did it!" he cried, shaking her. "It'sours now!"

Rhea gritted her teeth hard enough to crush bone. "I'm _done_," she hissed, pushing his hands away from her. He stumbled backward, smile falling from his cheeks. She stood on shaking legs, throwing off the harness that drooped from her shoulders.

"What do you mean_ you're done_?" Deimos asked mockingly.

"I'm out," she shot back, "for good. I did what you said. You got what you wanted. I don't want any part of it anymore." She turned to leave, but stumbled on her weak legs and fell against the railing.

Deimos laughed heartily. "Don't be ridiculous," he said. "Hydra is all you have left. You did this for us. For _me._" He paused when she did not reply. "You can't leave."

Rhea slowly turned her amber eyes on him, glowing with anger. "_Watch me_."

She took several short steps before one of the lackeys made a move to recapture her. Deimos held out his hand to stop him.

"Rhea," he called out to her. She stopped, but she would not look at him. "If you leave now, that's it. There's no coming back."

She laughed under her breath. "That's the hope."

* * *

Rufus scratched his fingernails back and forth across his scalp until it hurt. When he stopped, his blonde locks slipped between his fingertips, falling out of the perfectly-formed style they usually occupied. He tousled it hopelessly, feeling the remnants of old gel coating his palms. He rubbed his hands together to rid them of it. He caught sight of himself in the glare of the computer monitor before him and barely recognized himself.

It had been three days since Rhea had disappeared from her apartment. The Turks reported that they had attempted to follow her that rainy day, but they'd lost her in the slums. Without a solid lead, it was almost impossible to know where she'd gone. But Rufus had a hunch—one he hoped wasn't true.

The intercom suddenly buzzed, and Rufus nearly fell out of his chair. It was unlike him to be so skittish. Exhaling sharply, he pulled up the security camera for the hall, and he relaxed a bit. He input the command to unlock the door and heard it open on the other side of the office.

Rufus followed the head of red hair with his eyes, offering him a small smile as he came closer. He did not stand, but rather motioned to the chair across from him. The Turk sat.

"Good to see you, Reno," Rufus said.

Reno was smiling idly, bouncing his hand over the armrest of the chair. "You look like shit, Boss."

"Thanks for the assessment."

"My pleasure."

The pair stared at each other for some time, each knowing the other had many things to say. In the end, it was Rufus who gave in, clearing his throat.

"I'm not going to lie to you," he said slowly. "We lost her."

Reno lolled his head back against the back of the chair, covering his concern with faked annoyance. "Figures," he said. "She's like a slippery fish, that one. Took me years to track her down the first time."

Rufus laced his hands together, if for no other reason than to keep them from shaking. "We're going to need your help if we're going to find her."

Reno chewed his lip in thought. "All due respect, Boss," he began, "but what makes you think she wants to be found?"

"That never stopped you, did it?" Rufus replied.

Reno gave a shallow, contemplative nod. "Yeah, but maybe third time's not the charm," he said. "We've done all we can do at this point."

Rufus's eyebrow twitched. Reno's eyes narrowed. He was beginning to sense something was off. "It's…a bit more complicated than that," Rufus explained. "I think she might be in real danger this time."

"What makes you say that?" Again, Reno concealed his unease, cracking his knuckles one by one.

"Does the name 'Deimos' mean anything to you?"

At once, Reno froze altogether, fingers linked together and chin raised in alarm. "He's dead."

Slowly, Rufus shook his head. Reno could no longer hide his fear. His eyes grew wide, if only for a moment, before they fell closed. A vein snaked up his temple as he clenched his teeth.

"I think he may have reformed Hydra," Rufus continued, "and he's trying to recruit Rhea back to the ranks."

Reno snapped his eyes back up to Rufus. "I know Deimos," he said. "He's insane. He may be hiding behind Hydra just to get to Rhea, but he's really planning something much bigger. If he's already gotten to her, it might be too late."

"How can you know that?"

"Just before Hydra was eliminated twelve years ago, I remember overhearing some chatter between the leaders about a scheme to start harvesting Mako straight from the reactors," Reno explained. "But something wasn't right—there was no way we could have moved such a huge amount of narcotics in such a short amount of time. It simply wouldn't sell. I have a feeling they'd found a way to make something much more dangerous."

"Like what?"

Reno considered the question for a moment, grinding his front teeth together. "I'm not sure. The next day, the Turks came and massacred the lot of them."

"There isn't any mention of future plans in the Turks' old notes," Rufus said.

"Well, maybe they just got lucky."

Rufus lowered his head, lifting a shaking hand to run through his hair again.

"I'll do what I can to help you find her," Reno said at last, standing. He looked down at Rufus with a mixture of pity and respect in his eyes. "But if I do it, it's going to be the old way. No more red tape and precautionary measures. Deimos won't wait around for that."

Rufus stared back at his subordinate, his friend. He gave him one nod of his head before the Turk spun away and swept out of his office.

Rufus felt a wave of relief wash over him when the door slammed closed. He had been dreading Reno's return for days, knowing that he would eventually have to reveal Rhea's disappearance. Reno had taken it better than Rufus had expected him to, and he was grateful the Turk was willing to join the investigation. He would know exactly where to find his missing sister and hopefully bring her back to the light before it was too late.

Finally free of the stress that had been plaguing him, Rufus suddenly realized how malnourished he'd become. It had been nearly thirty-six hours since he'd last eaten, running back and forth between press conferences, board meetings, and using every spare moment to try and find Rhea. With a deep sigh, he relaxed into the back of his chair. It was close to nightfall now, and no other business needed tending to. On a whim, he picked up the phone and dialed Cora's office. She picked up a few rings later.

"Good evening, Mr. President," she greeted him.

"Cora, I hate to bother you at this hour," he said, "but could you bring me something from the café? I'd get it myself, but I'm afraid I might pass out on the way there."

Cora let out a polite laugh. "Certainly, sir. I'll be right up."

When she hung up, Rufus looked at himself again in the monitor of his computer again. Desperately, he tried to reform his hair, but it was no use. He would have to treat himself to a hot shower and a long night's sleep after this meal. He'd cleared most of his morning schedule to assist the Turks with their investigation, and he'd need to be well-rested if he were to be any help.

Rufus nearly fell asleep in his chair while he waited for Cora, but eventually the buzz of the intercom once again stunned him upright. He unlocked the door and stood to meet his assistant halfway.

He had just rounded the lounge area when Cora passed into the main office, and Rufus suddenly noticed she wasn't carrying anything. Rather, one of her hands was hidden behind her back. She strode swiftly toward him, and she was within an arm's length before he realized what was happening. She revealed her hand at last, brandishing a small pistol. She pressed the silenced barrel to his forehead and smiled.

"Sorry, Mr. President," she said, "we don't have time to eat tonight."


	13. Fail-Safe

**AN: **Okay, now it's starting to get interesting! This chapter is hugely plot heavy, so buckle up. I hope you're enjoying reading this crazy ride as much as I'm enjoying writing it! Please leave a review, follow, or favorite if you have...

* * *

The adrenaline that surged through the president's system made him forget how tired and malnourished he was. As soon as the silencer touched his forehead, Rufus became a different person: all his energy was diverted back to his brain, which worked overtime to process such a shocking turn of events. Though his body remained weak, his senses were sharpened, ready to react in a millisecond if necessary.

"Hands on your head," Cora demanded. He obliged, hands trembling as he raised them to rest on the crown of his skull.

"Cora," he said, forcing a small smirk. "I never would have pegged you for a double agent."

Cora mirrored his smile, proudly bearing her teeth. "That's the beauty of it."

"Can I ask why?"

She narrowed her eyes, looking at him like a tigress surveying her prey. "Oh, nothing too dramatic," she began. "No dead family members, no undying grudge. Just an opportunity—an ideal that makes the most sense."

"Sense?" Rufus repeated. He considered her response. "I don't suppose you'd like to share that ideal with me?"

Cora's smirk fell away. She shook her head slowly. "You'll find out everything soon enough. But first, we have to take a little ride." She jerked her head back toward the desk. "There's a chopper inbound to the helipad. You're going to give it clearance and get on it."

When Rufus didn't respond, Cora pushed the gun further into his forehead. Hands still linked into his hair, he turned around and made for the desk. Once there, he opened his computer and input the command to authorize the helicopter's landing. Cora then took him by the arm and pressed the gun into his back.

"Walk."

With gritted teeth, he obeyed. They left the office and took the stairs to the roof. There, Rufus squinted against the evening sun. In the distance, chopper blades sounded, and a black dot grew larger against the horizon like a tiny eclipse. Within minutes, the small craft touched down on the helipad, its black doors thrown open to allow for Rufus and Cora to enter. She pushed him down to the floor of the cargo hold as the doors slammed shut behind them. Rufus fell with a grunt before turning his eyes to his surroundings, struggling to find his bearings in the small cabin. Cora kept her gun trained on him as a figure emerged from the passenger seat of the cockpit. Rufus immediately recognized the striking white eye.

Deimos pulled off his headset before stooping in to face his prisoner. "Well, well," he said, "how nice to finally meet the man behind the menace of the Shinra Company."

Rufus could not muster a reply. He maintained only enough energy to meet his captor's gaze, blue eyes colliding with the stony white one.

"Now, now," Deimos continued, "don't tell me you're not happy to see me. I'm certainly _ecstatic_ to see you."

Again, Rufus did not respond.

"I'll take that as a no, "Deimos said. "That's a shame. I was hoping as a two businessmen, you and I might have more to say to one another. Seems you're saving all your words for someone else…" He stifled quiet laughter and stood. "Very well. Bag him."

Within seconds, Cora had swept in, hands clenched around a dark hood. She threw it over his head, and his world went black.

* * *

A familiar tune echoed through the abandoned walls of Rhea's old apartment in the slums. The two run-down rooms were all but empty, except for her broken mattress and a wobbly table on which the music box sat. Rhea lay on the rusted springs and wrinkled sheets of the bed, her eyes turned on the source of the music, amber irises empty and cold. She felt as though something had been stolen from her during the lifetime she'd spent suspended in Mako, her subconscious tugged between the realm of the spirits and the world of the living. She felt empty knowing what lay on the other side of life, and knowing she was not allowed the mercy of passing over to it.

Rhea rolled away from the music box, her eyes falling closed and sending two tears racing down her cheeks. She uncurled her trembling fists. There, cupped in her hands like water lay her mother's badge. In the wheeling depths of her mind, Rhea thought her mother had looked just like this candid photo: reserved smile and eyes like warm honey. She felt cheated to have been stolen away from her presence, no matter how surreal or false it may have been.

In the darkness, the sound of creaking door hinges rang clear as day. Rhea had no strength or will to face the intruder, resigned to whatever fate might befall her now. Was it Deimos come to either kill her or take her back? Was it Rufus here to smother her with his undying need to protect her—to save her? Heavy footsteps sounded on the floorboards, and the cover of the music box slammed shut. Rhea's soul felt even emptier in the silence that followed.

"Get up."

She was surprised to find that the voice belonged to neither Deimos nor Rufus, but rather sounded as familiar to her as her own. Meekly, she turned her head to see a spark of red hair illuminated by a ray of moonlight that cut through the dusty room. Reno's hand rested on the top of the music box, his icy blue eyes locked on her empty ones.

"Stop sulking and get up."

Rhea let her head fall back to the bed, drawing her legs up closer to her like a scolded child. Behind her, Reno exhaled sharply in frustration and took two more steps forward. The weight on the bed shifted and Rhea felt her brother's cold hand come to rest on her bare shoulder. It stayed there for several moments, and Rhea sensed the hesitance in her brother's touch. It had been over a decade since they'd last been this close.

Suddenly, Reno lifted his hand from her shoulder and plucked the small badge from the cradle of her grasp. He looked at it for a long time, turning the plastic over in his palms.

"Where did you get this?"

Rhea did not respond. Eyes half-averted, she reached for the badge, weakly tugging at his grasp. Reno conceded to her, a look of pity in his eyes.

"What did Deimos tell you about our mother?"

Rhea's eyes welled with tears again. She closed her hands around the badge. "Nothing."

Hesitance crept into Reno's features, just like what she'd sensed in his touch. "Rhea," he began carefully. "Mom wasn't…who you think she was." A deep breath interrupted his cautious voice. "She and Dad…were part of Hydra."

Rhea turned on him as if a shock had surged through her body. "What are you talking about?"

"They were double agents. They spied on Shinra and divulged information about Mako shipments and manufacturing."

Sparks flew from Rhea's once-dead eyes. "You're lying."

"No," Reno said quickly. "I wish I were. That's why Hydra had them killed. They discovered something—something huge. They were going to double cross Hydra. That's where we were going the night they died—not some gala. They were on their way to tell the president."

Rhea sat up quickly, fingers clenched around the faded sheets. "How can you know that?"

Reno lifted his head. "Nox," he said simply.

Rhea immediately remembered the name: third in command during their time in Hydra. Nox had been to Reno what Deimos was to Rhea—a mentor. He was the one who had given Reno his marks and his daily dose of Mako.

"He made sure to remind me every single day that Mom and Dad were traitors," Reno continued. "But when initiation was over…I realized that Deimos hadn't told you. I don't know why. Or, at least, I didn't know it then."

"Why didn't _you_ tell me?" Rhea whispered, voice choked out by the pain of comprehension.

"I guess…I wanted to leave you a little bit of hope," Reno confessed. "If we ever made it out of there, I didn't want you to feel like you had to give up."

Tears streamed down Rhea's face. "Then why are you telling me _now?"_

"Because Deimos is using it against you," Reno quickly replied. "He's luring you into a trap—"

"You think I don't know that?" Rhea slammed her hand onto the bed. "You think I don't know what he's done—what I helped him do?!"

Reno clenched his jaw and struggled to hold his sister's glimmering gaze. It pained him to know he was hurting her, but he needed to pull her from this darkness. "It's not too late," he said softly, reaching for her hand where it lay on the bed. "Rufus wants to help."

Rhea jerked her hand back, turning away and drawing her legs up against her chest. "All he ever wants to do is help," she hissed, wiping her cheeks against her knees. "But he can't. Nobody can. Not even you."

Reno fought a rising tide of anger in his throat. She had given up. After all those years spent fighting, clawing tooth and nail against all odds, she had finally given up. He was disappointed in her, but more than disappointment, he felt pity. She had been broken by a life not meant for her.

"He cares about you," Reno said at last. "I see it in his eyes. That man cares about you more than he cares about himself. And between you and me…that's saying something."

Rhea's eyes met his for just a brief moment. He offered her a small smile—something she didn't even know he was famous for. She didn't _really_ know anything about her brother—his dubious deeds in his early years with the Turks, or his heroic ones during the attack on Edge three years ago. She had grown to hate this man she barely knew, simply because of a misunderstanding that had occurred over a decade in the past. She looked at him, at his fair skin, cerulean eyes, and scarlet hair, and finally understood in that moment that the same blood that coursed through her veins also coursed through his. They were family.

"Come with me," Reno said urgently. "It's not too late to go back. We'll get you fixed up like I wanted to the first time." He extended his hand to her, fingertips twitching hopefully. "At the very least, we can be broken together."

Rhea did not even give herself time to think. It was possible that she would face Deimos and take down Hydra once and for all, but it was equally possible she would fail at that goal. Somehow, it didn't matter anymore. She was no longer satisfied with these decisions being made for her. For the first time in quite possibly her entire life, she would choose her own fate.

She slipped her hand into Reno's grasp.

He smiled. "Let's go start some fires."

* * *

Rufus was awoken by the violent sound and motion of the hood being ripped from his head. He winced back in response to the blinding light that shone in eyes. He attempted to raise his hands in defense, but they had been bound behind his back. He turned his cheek into his shoulder, blinking wildly to adjust his eyes to his surroundings.

Before his sight returned, Rufus became vaguely aware of a sweet smell in the air. Though his hearing was muddled at best, the sounds he could make out seemed to reverberate through the air. Far below, the ambient sound of rushing liquid could be heard. Suddenly, the light left his eyes, his vision tingling in its wake.

"Boss!" came a low voice. "He's awake!"

Rufus looked to his right and saw a black figure standing a few feet away, illuminated from below by a faint greenish light. Slowly, he realized that he was sitting against the railing of a catwalk, and though it was rusted and creaking, he recognized it almost immediately. He was deep inside the heart of one of Midgar's old reactors, suspended over live, volatile Mako. Further down the walk, four bodies stood, only two he recognized as Deimos and Cora.

Footsteps sounded on the old metal grates, and Rufus turned his blurry vision to the man that appeared in front of him. White eye trained on him and an evil smile cracking at his mouth, Deimos knelt before Rufus.

"How nice of you to join the party, Mr. President," he announced. "I trust you had a good nap?"

Rufus reeled back from his booming voice, ears pounding.

"Can I get you anything? Water? Wine? A Mako cocktail perhaps?" Deimos laughed, standing and turning his arms out to motion to the bubbling liquid that stirred no less than twenty feet below them. "Look at what your little whore did for me, Rufus. She's good, isn't she? At a great many things."

Rufus coughed, his lungs and throat dry. "What are your plans now?" he asked in a hoarse voice.

Deimos chuckled again. "Wouldn't you like to know?" he said, turning back to his captive. "I'll tell you what…I'll let you in on our plans if you promise to stay alive long enough for me to kill you right in front of Rhea's eyes." Rufus shot him a look of daggers, but Deimos only smiled wider. "Hydra made its first legacy turning Mako into a drug," he continued. "But that only scratched the surface of what this beautiful substance can do. Now, we've discovered methods of manipulating Mako in ways that would make you shiver in your boots."

"What are you getting at?" Rufus demanded.

"Manipulate," Deimos repeated. "That should give you a clue."

Rufus simply stared at his captor, his mind unwilling to follow where Deimos was taking him.

Deimos grinned wildly and snapped at one of his lackeys who stood a few feet away. The man jogged up and handed Deimos a black bag, out of which he pulled a syringe and a small vial of golden liquid. "Allow me to demonstrate," he said, filling the syringe from the vial. He tapped the needle before walking lazily toward the lackey that stood beside him. He suddenly grabbed the henchman's arm and stuck him deep with the syringe, pumping the golden liquid straight into his body. The man put up a fight for a few seconds, but eventually his head and limbs slumped a bit before his entire body went rigid. When the lackey opened his eyes, they glowed gold, empty and expressionless. Deimos smiled and backed up.

"Prax," he barked. The man snapped his eyes to his leader. "Kill Oster."

Without a moment's hesitation, the lackey named Prax whipped out his sidearm and pointed it at the man standing behind him. A gunshot rang out across the vaulted ceiling of the reactor, and Oster slumped to the ground in a heap, his forehead oozing slick blood from a perfect headshot. The lackey holstered his gun and turned back to Deimos.

Rufus felt an uncontrollable tremor surge through his body. He looked from the dead lackey, to Deimos, and finally to the living puppet he controlled. This was beyond anything Rufus had ever seen before. Even the most powerful manipulate spells did not work on human beings, but somehow Deimos had made it possible. He had created a mind control substance.

Maniacal laughter roiled forth from Deimos's lungs. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he cried. "Imagine! An entire puppet military, armed with Mako weaponry and ready to kill at any moment! I could rule this entire world and no one would even be the wiser."

"That's no world at all," Rufus whispered, his entire body trembling. "That's hell."

Deimos chuckled deeply. "Maybe so. But _my_ hell is better than _your_ hell. This fucked up world that you've created—it's full of weaklings and gluttons, greedy shits and murdering bastards. In _my _hell, everyone will be the same. Everyone will be equal."

Deimos's voice grew quiet, as if he were speaking of a revered deity or a hallowed spirit. A calmness washed away the insanity that stirred in his spirit, but it frightened Rufus just the same. Unpredictable.

"But there's just one problem," Deimos continued softly. "Even with the Mako mere feet below us, we still can't harvest it. There's one last fail-safe keeping it from pumping back into the city. You made sure it wouldn't be easy for us to get it, didn't you?"

Suddenly, Deimos swept in and grabbed Rufus by the arm, yanking him to his feet. Rufus stumbled into the railing, his head leaning out over the swirling Mako below.

In that instant, Rufus knew he was referring to the DNA sensor attached to the main flow pipe at the end of the catwalk. After the Nibelheim incident, his father had installed the devices into all the reactors to keep intruders from manually overriding the fail-safes and tampering with the flow of Mako—or, as Sephiroth had done, from discovering the secrets contained in the reactors themselves. In the event of a system failure, the device required DNA proof from the acting president of the Shinra Company before any commands could be authorized.

"But I cracked that one too," Deimos said, digging his fingers into Rufus's shoulder. "It really was _too easy._" Deimos shoved Rufus toward the main flow pipe at the end of the catwalk, but he refused to go any further. "Prax, take him to the panel," Deimos ordered. Rufus felt an inhuman grasp close around his shoulders, pushing him toward the pipe. Once he was close enough to it, Deimos ordered his puppet to cut his bindings, forcing Rufus to his knees as he did so. Deimos came up beside them and input the command to initiate the DNA sensor. A panel flipped out from the center of the crank wheel on the pipe, a glowing blue receptacle ready for DNA proof.

Deimos suddenly grabbed Rufus's hand, holding it over the receptacle. The lackey kept his hands on his shoulders so as to prevent him from pulling away. Deimos then removed a small knife from a holster on his belt, pressing it into Rufus's palm.

"Spit would do just fine," he said, "but blood is just so much more fun."

Rufus glared at the freak before him, strangely unafraid of the blade that pricked at his palm. "You can cut me all you want," Rufus replied, "but it won't do you any good."

Deimos laughed. "Really, Mr. President? That's the best begging you can muster? I'm disappointed."

Without a moment's hesitation, Deimos sliced the blade deep into Rufus's palm, bringing forth warm red blood, spilling down his fingers in slick rivers. It dripped into the receptacle which hissed in response, calculating the DNA. Deimos watched the display, fanatical eagerness burning in his eyes. Suddenly, the console buzzed loudly, glowing red: ACCESS DENIED.

"What?!" Deimos shouted.

It was Rufus who laughed now. "I told you," he said.

Deimos suddenly dug his finger into the gaping wound in Rufus's palm. He shrieked in pain. "_Don't fuck with me!" _he roared.

Rufus breathed quickly, his hand throbbing and fingers going numb. Weakly, he lifted his eyes to Deimos. "I had it changed," he gasped, "after I realized what you were after."

"_To who?!_"

Rufus forced another weak laugh, his arm trembling. "Who do you think?" Again, Deimos's fingers dug into his hand, and Rufus struggled to hold back his cries. "When you sent her to my room to steal those files, she left her clip on my bedroom floor. I retrieved a hair from it and had the code changed to match her DNA." He gasped for shallow breaths, turning them into soft laughter. "You made your own fail safe."

Deimos released Rufus's hand, and a deep roar forced out of the maniac's lungs loud enough to rattle the pipes and ducts around them. He then coiled his arm back and landed a punch so hard on Rufus's jaw, it forced him from the lackey's grasp and onto the ground. The force sent his teeth deep into his cheek, and sweet blood flowed into his mouth. Rufus spit it onto the catwalk before raising himself to his hands and knees, but Deimos came in again to kick him in the side. He felt a rib crack and collapsed to the ground, bloody hand curled into his injured side.

Suddenly, Deimos grabbed him by the hair, pulling his face up level with his own. "You've just made the biggest mistake of your life," Deimos hissed, the heat of his breath steaming against his cheek. He released his hair and stood, fuming. "Get him out of my sight!"

The inhuman grasp fell around Rufus's shoulders again, flipping him over and pulling him across the catwalk on his back. His vision grew foggy again, blood barely clotting around the bloody gash in his hand.

Surely, there could be no hell worse than this.


	14. Fire Starters

**AN: **Another quick update for ya! This is more of a transitional chapter, but I feel it's got some great moments between Reno and Rhea. Hope you like, and as always, leave a review, follow, or favorite if you did!

* * *

When Rufus came to, the first thing he felt was the agonizing pain in his hand, followed by a dull throb in his side, and lastly the tingle of a bruise forming on his jaw. Again, his hands had been bound behind him, this time around the rungs of a metal chair. With a soft groan, he lifted his head, his weak neck struggling to hold the weight of it over his shoulders. His blurred vision slowly cleared, and in a moment he recognized his surroundings: the reactor's control room.

The chair faced a floor-to-ceiling window that looked out over the city of Midgar below, and the bridge that led into the reactor itself. In the glare of the glass, Rufus could see his own reflection. A sharp mark had formed on the side of his jaw, and his sweat-slicked hair lay flat against his forehead. He ran his tongue along the inside of his mouth and felt a half-healed gash in his cheek.

Daylight was beginning to creep over the city, giving Rufus some idea as to how long he might have been out. The silence told him Deimos likely hadn't captured Rhea yet, but there was no way to be sure. Remembering the position he'd put her in, Rufus felt a sudden impulse of survival turning in his stomach. He twisted his hands against the rope that held them, trying to feel the configuration of the knot. His injured hand slowed the process, dried blood cracking open and revealing the pulsing wound. He winced in pain.

"I wouldn't bother if I were you."

With a small gasp, Rufus whipped his head over his shoulder, seeing Deimos standing in the doorway on the other side of the room. His lithe figure slipped into the light, evil smile returned to the features that had last been racked with rage.

"Even if you did manage to break free, you wouldn't get far," Deimos whispered, coming to stand beside Rufus and resting his weathered hand on his shoulder. "I'd have my puppets on you so fast, you wouldn't even have time to say…_'Rhea'_."

Rufus tensed at the mention of her, despising the way Deimos regarded her as no more than an object.

"I wonder where the little wench has gotten to?" Deimos mused, circling Rufus like a shark around a bleeding victim. "Maybe she's gone back to your bed, hoping you'll be home any minute to—"

"_Shut up!"_ Rufus shouted, lunging toward Deimos. His captor flinched back, stunned by the sudden show of spirit. His look of unease slowly melted into amusement again.

"I apologize, Mr. President. Did I hit a nerve?" Laughing, Deimos turned his back to Rufus, looking out the window at the glowing city below. "Don't worry, we'll find her soon enough. I have _plenty_ of help on the way."

Rufus suddenly became aware of a soft pattering noise reverberating through walls of the control room. It came in a steady rhythm, like a heartbeat, and soon he laid eyes on the source of it: dozens of black figures were pouring out of the entrance of the reactor in rows of four across, marching perfectly in time. When they finally stopped, Rufus must have counted over a hundred of them, all dressed in black and toting sleek rifles.

Deimos suddenly turned toward a console nearby, pressing a button on its surface. He leaned down and spoke into the intercom, broadcasting the message throughout the entire reactor:

"Attention puppets: you are to lay siege to the city of Edge, attack the headquarters of World Restoration Organization, and capture its president. Kill anyone who stands in your way. Bring me Rhea Flynnt—dead or alive."

There was a short moment of complete and utter silence. Rufus couldn't even be sure the puppets were breathing.

"Understood?!"

A lifeless cry rang from the lungs of each and every soldier, sounding like a crash of lightning. Rufus felt a shiver of fear surge through him.

The soldiers wheeled around and marched out of the reactor, heading for Edge.

Deimos turned to Rufus, his eyes glowing with triumph. "This is only a taste of what's to come," he said. "These soldiers were created only with the stores we had. Once I get my hands on the Mako inside this reactor…I'll have enough serum to create an army ten times this size."

Deimos stared at his captive for several moments, rejoicing in the fear and panic that spread across his features, usually steely with resolve. After he'd drunk his fill, Deimos turned and swept toward exit, stopping a few feet from the hall.

"Oh, and I expect you to hold up your end of the bargain," he called back to Rufus. "No dying until our special guest arrives."

Rufus's body trembled with defeat, his spirit finally broken by the wicked laughter that plagued him.

* * *

By the time Reno and Rhea emerged from the dilapidated apartment complex in the slums, daybreak was already upon them. Rhea stood silent on the sidewalk, blinking to adjust her eyes to the faded light of dawn. As if some instinctual impulse were driving her, she immediately turned and headed east, prompting Reno to jog after her, catching her arm.

"Hey, where do you think you're going?" he blurted.

"Hydra's headquarters," Rhea replied.

"We can't," Reno began, "we have to go back to the W.R.O. building and plan. You need to tell Rufus everything."

Rhea suddenly felt a wave of guilt wash over her, and she dug her fingernails into her palm. "The W.R.O. building isn't safe," she said, lowering her head shamefully.

"What do you mean?"

She avoided her brother's eyes. "Cora is a spy."

Reno didn't reply at first. She heard him release a long, slow breath, and he turned away. "That means everyone's in danger," he said at last, twisting the knife of guilt further into Rhea's gut. "We'll have to secure the W.R.O. building before we make for the headquarters."

Rhea scoffed with impatience. "Every second we waste, Deimos is getting closer to his goal—"

"You're being rash," Reno spat, turning his head back to her. "If we rush in there without a plan, we're as good as dead. But if we can ambush Cora at the headquarters, we can cut off their communications and maybe squeeze some information out of her."

"And what if she's not there?"

"Then we can alert the Turks to her status and get them on her trail." Reno paused, glaring at his sister with eyes of blue steel. "Face it, Rhea. We need help."

Truthfully, Rhea was afraid that they'd be too late. She had wasted precious time—spent far too long feeling ashamed when she should have been alerting Shinra and the W.R.O. to Hydra's plans. Still, she knew her brother was right. The Turks would be their best bet at combating whatever Hydra had to throw at them.

Rhea gave a curt nod. "Fine," she said, jogging past her brother in the opposite direction. "Let's hurry."

Reno elected not to call ahead, for fear he might tip off Cora by some poor luck. Instead, he sprinted behind his sister for twelve blocks, his eyes trained on the skyscraper growing in the distance, its white face shining like a freshly-forged blade. When they came upon it, Reno led the way up the front steps, striding through the sliding doors, mingling with the morning rush.

"Follow my lead and don't look suspicious," he whispered to Rhea, who followed close behind him.

Reno made eye contact with a security guard, flashing the badge tucked into the interior of his jacket. "She's with me," he muttered as he passed, and the guard gave a short nod to Rhea, allowing them past the metal detectors. Reno made a bee-line for the welcome desk, holding up a hand to silence the attendant who greeted him by name. He slipped behind the desk and followed a narrow hall nearby. When they reached the door marked with Cora's name, Reno reached into his jacket, pulling out a sidearm and leaning his ear to the door. He then pulled out his badge and held it to the lock on the door and burst inside, brandishing his weapon.

Rhea rushed over when she heard a woman scream. She looked past Reno to see a small blonde woman standing beside a desk with her hands over her head. At the end of the hall, attendants poked their heads in to see what the fuss was about.

"Yvonne, Where's Cora?" Reno demanded in a stern but calm voice.

"I haven't seen her since yesterday evening," the blonde stammered. "She took today off. She said the president blocked off his entire schedule for the day."

Reno tensed up, holstering his weapon. "No, no, no," he hissed, sweeping into the desk in front of Yvonne, who backed up to the wall. Reno picked up the phone there and dialed the president's office—it rang endlessly. "Damnit!" Reno shouted, slamming the receiver onto the desk. Anxious, Rhea hurried in beside her brother as he turned to a nearby computer, bringing up what looked like security camera footage of the hall on the 70th floor. He backed up the timeline to the night before, stopping when he saw two dark figures receding down the hall—Cora and Rufus.

Rhea's breath froze completely as she looked at the still on the screen—she saw the glint of silver that pressed into the president's side. They were too late.

"Yvonne, we have a Code Gold," Reno whispered to the blonde that shivered a few feet away. Her eyes went even wider. "The president has been kidnapped. Tell only those with need-to-know clearance. The Turks will take point. We're going to keep this tight—almost like it never happened. I don't want panic. Understand?"

After a moment of epiphany, Yvonne stiffened up and nodded her head quickly.

"Contact Tseng, Rude, and Elena and tell them to meet me in Reeve's office," Reno tacked on.

"Yes, sir," Yvonne managed to choke out, diving for the phone as Reno headed for the exit. Rhea hurried out behind him, ignoring the prying eyes and heading swiftly for the elevator. When the doors closed behind them, Rhea nearly broke down in tears

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, pressing her palm into her forehead. "I'm such a fucking idiot, I knew something like this would happen—"

She froze when she felt Reno's hand on her shoulder. "Stop it," he said. "There's nothing you can do about it now. Worrying is just a waste of precious energy. You need to buckle down and stay focused."

It pained her to admit he was right. So far, sorrow and self-loathing had gotten her nowhere, and she would need all the conviction and courage she could muster to face the repercussions of those actions. With a deep, full breath, Rhea steadied her racing thoughts.

The doors of the elevator flew back and Reno again set off in a swift gait. Rhea hurried to keep up. They passed Rufus's now empty office and soon arrived at an identical set of mahogany doors on the opposite side of the hall. Reno held down the button on the intercom beside it.

"Reeve, it's Reno. Rhea's with me. It's urgent."

Without so much as a single word, the door banged open and Reno pushed it aside, leading the way into the office. It was almost identical to Rufus's, with a few different furnishings and a rotated layout, but Rhea still felt nostalgic walking through it.

As Reeve's desk came in sight, the chair that sat behind it wheeled around, revealing the man himself sitting in it. He stood, wearing a look of anxiety on his learned features.

"Reno," Reeve said, voice impatient. "What's going on out there?"

"We don't have a lot of time to explain," Reno replied. "Tell me what you know and I'll fill you in."

"Rufus told me about Hydra," Reeve began, "and that they were trying to take control of Midgar's reactors."

"Wait a second," Rhea interrupted, "how did Rufus know that?"

Reeve turned to her, a knowing look in his eye. "A few days ago, he informed me that Hydra had gotten their hands on some restricted files from his office. He approached me and asked me to help him change the final fail-safe for the reactors in case Hydra found a way to breach the other ones."

Rhea felt her stomach turn. Rufus had discovered her betrayal, and only he had paid the price for it. Again, she'd failed him. Again, she'd forsaken his kindness.

"How does the final fail-safe work?" Reno asked, ignoring Rhea's guilty silence.

"There is a DNA sensor connected to the reactor's mainframe that will only respond to the genetic material of the acting president of the Shinra Company," Reeve replied.

"But Rufus had it changed?"

Reeve did not respond at first—it took Rhea a moment to realize he was staring straight at her, his brown eyes shaded by the troubled line of his brow. He nodded slowly.

"To who?" Reno asked, his voice slow and deliberate.

Reeve turned to Reno and took a deep, calculated breath. "To Rhea."

Her eyes flew wide; her mouth fell open as if to speak, but no words came forth. Her lungs felt as though a hand had wrapped around them, choking her except for a shallow stream of air flowing in and out. Rufus had either pulled off a very clever trick or sentenced her to certain death—on the surface, one seemed as good as the other. "Why would he do that?" she whispered, more to herself than to the others.

Neither had a chance to respond before a hollow buzz rang from the intercom on Reeve's desk: "Turks, reporting for duty."

Reeve unlocked the door again, sending the three Turks bursting into the room. The long, dark-haired one called Tseng led the way, followed by Rude and a blonde woman named Elena. All three gave Reeve a shallow bow as they approached.

"Tseng," Reeve said, "what news do you have?"

"Nothing good, I'm afraid," Tseng replied. "We've just received reports that a strange group of armed militia is heading into the slums from Midgar."

"They must be Hydra forces," Reeve mused. "Where are they being deployed from?"

"We've traced them back to the reactor in Sector 3," Rude said.

Reno cracked his knuckles. "That must be where they're holding the president."

"Rufus was kidnapped?" Reeve gasped, leaning over the desk now.

Reno gave a short nod. "Cora was playing a double agent," he said. "She took him last night."

Reeve brought his hand to his forehead, running his fingers deep into his temples and through his scalp. He then turned to the three Turks that stood before him. "Do we have any idea where the Hydra forces are headed?"

"Initial reports seem to suggest they've broken off into two groups," Elena explained. "One is heading for our position, while the other is ransacking the slums. It's almost as if they're searching for something—"

"Me," Rhea interrupted. "They're searching for me."

The room grew quiet with silent reproach. Through a tangled web of mistakes and lies, Rhea had wrought this fate on the city—she determined in that moment that she must be the one to fix it.

Reeve stood up straight as an arrow, his face set with the conviction of a king. "Rude, Elena—gather the W.R.O. Special Forces and lead them against the Hydra soldiers in the slums," he ordered. "Tseng, you'll be in charge of evacuating this building. When you've finished, set up a perimeter and keep the siege back as long as you can. Call in the rest of the Turks for backup."

"Yes, sir!" The Turks barked in time. They gave eager nods before turning and heading out of office.

"I'll head for Sector 3," Reno said. "If I go by myself, I might have a chance to slip in and rescue Rufus."

Reeve nodded in agreement. "I will take Rhea to the bunker," he said. "She'll be safe there."

"No."

Both men turned their eyes on her.

"Rhea," Reno began, "you have to stay here—"

"_No_," she repeated.

"Don't be stupid—"

"Damnit Reno, this is my decision to make!" she shouted, her voice echoing off the vaulted ceiling like shattering glass. "Deimos wants _me_. Not you, not Reeve—_me._ If I go willingly, he might agree to stop the siege on Edge. He might let Rufus go."

Reno looked hard at his sister, his eyes searching hers for several precious moments. He then turned his head to Reeve, who gave the Turk a knowing look.

"She's right, Reno," he said softly. "She might be your best bargaining chip."

Reno turned back Rhea and saw the look of hunger that blazed in her amber eyes. She was not content being a bargaining chip—she was ready to fight.

"Time to start fires, remember?"

Reno clenched his fists before releasing a harsh sigh. "Fine," he said, turning sharply away from her. "But we leave now."

Rhea nodded before falling into step behind him.

They tore out of the office in a blur of red and orange, enough fire between them to summon Ifrit himself.


	15. Puppet

**AN: **Hey everyone, and happy Memorial day! Thanks for all the views over this weekend, and sorry for the lack of updates. I've been on a bit of a vacation, but I did find time to squeak in some writing. I got a little carried away with this chapter, and I didn't want it to be too long, so I cut it off a little it toward the end. Don't worry, I'll pick it up right where it left off in the next chapter. Thanks again or for your patronage! Leave a review if you've enjoyed the series thus far!

* * *

Rufus could feel himself slipping in and out of sleep, his body desperately trying to conserve energy. Each time he entered a state of dreaming, he awoke with a start to the haunting sound of Deimos's laughter. Its dark timbre had worn on his spirit, leaving him little will to fight for survival. Somewhere in the streets of Edge, inhuman soldiers were laying siege to the city, wreaking havoc on the peace he'd worked years to establish. It was possible the W.R.O. Headquarters were currently being burnt to the ground, with everyone he cared about left inside.

These dark thoughts stirred in his mind like a disease, but worst of them all was the thought of what Deimos would do to Rhea when he found her. There would be no mercy meted out. Rufus had placed her in an impossible position by changing the fail-safe to match her DNA. When he'd done it, from the safety of his office and with the knowledge that she had betrayed him, it had seemed like a fair judgment. Now, after seeing the rage that he'd awoken in Deimos by doing so, Rufus realized it had been a grave mistake. He only hoped that Rhea would have enough sense to stay as far away as possible, and that the Turks and the W.R.O would soon fight back the rising tide of puppeted soldiers entering the city. If they could subdue the seige and keep Rhea safe, it would force Deimos's hand. He had no Mako left to create soldiers, and without Rhea's DNA to activate the reactor, he had no means of acquiring any more.

Rufus felt his eyes grow heavy once again, unable to fight the fear of the laughter that he knew would wake him only moments later. However, he did not have a chance to fall into the dream world before a sound from the real one shot him upright-footsteps on the ground. Slowly, he craned his neck around, but the pain in his side stopped him from turning fully to face the visitor. He felt the person come to a stop directly behind him, and after a moment, soft knuckles came to brush against his cheek: a woman's touch. His heart jumped into his throat, and he ignored the pain in his side in order to turn the rest of the way, half-relieved and half-frightened by what he saw.

Cora stood behind him, her fair hand stroking the bruise on his cheek, tell-tale smirk growing on her lips. "I hope you're comfortable, Mr. President," she said softly. "I'd be a terrible assistant if you weren't."

Rufus scowled at her, leaning his head weakly away from her touch. She stopped smiling and came around the front of him, grabbing his chin roughly with one hand. "Drink," she said, holding a metal cannister to his lips. She tipped it back, and Rufus felt cool, refreshing water flow into his mouth. He drank as fast as his throat would allow, water trickling over his chin and down his neck. In an instant, he could feel life returning to him-breathing became easier, his mind more alert.

Cora brought the cannister away before he could finish it. She then walked around to the back of him again, leaning down to pour the remainder of the water over his injured hand. Rufus groaned in pain, clenching his jaw to stifle it. He felt a soft cloth being pressed into his palm. "Squeeze," Cora instructed. He obeyed.

Cora circled around him again, turning her stone-eyed stare on him. Rufus saw nothing of the sweet, attentive assistant he'd hired two years ago. Her skill in hiding her true intentions was almost frightening. It was as if he were looking into the eyes of a completely different person-a changeling or a shapeshifter. Instead of her simple navy blue Shinra uniform, she now sported a tight black catsuit and a leather vest, her hair drawn up into a ponytail. Strapped to her lower back were two wakizashi, their sheaths crossed over one another, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice.

"You made a terrible mistake toying with Deimos like that," Cora said at last. "He's going to make you suffer for it."

"You almost sound concerned," Rufus replied.

Cora turned her nose up to him, crossing her arms.

"Tell me, how does _this_ make the most sense?" he continued. "This dictatorship, this..._terrorism?_"

She turned her back to him, walking up to the thick glass window before her. "When Meteor struck, some part of me _wanted _the Planet to be destroyed," she said, her voice much softer now. "The world had been filled with such greed and hatred for decades. We had mistreated this planet, and I knew in my heart we deserved to be punished for it."

"How is that better than trying to atone for our mistakes?"

Cora considered it a moment, lowering her head. "Maybe it's not," she replied. "But what Deimos has planned is." She turned back around, eyes shining with admiration. "He'll take away all the pain and suffering, and turn every living being into a servant of the Planet. That is the fate we have always been destined for."

"And what about free will? Purpose? Consciousness?"

"Free will creates thieves and murderers. Purpose and consciousness make us vain. We are here to exist, to further the Planet's wishes, and nothing more."

"I feel sorry for you," Rufus said. The sincerity in his voice hurt Cora, who bit her lip and turned her eyes away from him. "Life is nothing without the ability to choose our destinies. Why shouldn't we pursue happiness, if that happiness doesn't hurt others? We exist in this world only for a fleeting moment-we are born, and then we die. We can only hope to leave this planet a little better than when we came."

Cora's face became an unreadable slab, strange shadows thrown on it by the harsh flourescent light. "What a lovely speech, Mr. President," she said callously. "But I'm afraid it's not enough. There will always be those with cruel intentions."

"Just as there will always be those with good intentions."

Cora hesitated. "And who should get to choose which intentions are good and which are bad?"

Rufus gave her a soft smile. "The Planet, I suppose."

With each word he spoke, Rufus saw more and more of the woman he'd come to know shining through her cold exteriror. Her stoic black eyes had softened with understanding, but she did not let it stay for long. With a flick of her dark hair, she made for the exit, stopping a few feet behind him.

"Perhaps in a different life, our paths might have crossed more harmoniously," she said. "I hope you are satisifed with the choices you've made in this one."

Her quick footsteps picked up again, receeding down the hall and out of earshot.

When silence took hold, Rufus thought he might be able to fall into a peaceful sleep at last, having successfully defended his ideals against the enemy. He let his eyes fall closed for what seemed like hours, reveling in the black emptiness that surrounded him. He thought he might be dreaming when he felt movement near his wrists, but when he opened his eyes, he was still sitting in the reactor's control room. Suddenly, he felt his hands fall away from one another, his bonds broken. His tired mind snapped awake when a shadow moved over him. He would not have recognized the figure if not for a single lock of red hair amidts the darkness.

Rhea stooped down in front of him, pulling a small knife against the rope that held his legs.

"Why did you come here?" he hissed, hoping she would soon fade into his dream like a spirit.

Rhea hushed him as she worked at his bonds. Her amber eyes looked different somehow, as if a fire were burning somewhere in the depths of them. When he was finally freed, Rufus lunged forward and caught her face with his hands, kissing her eagerly. She accepted it, even welcomed it for several moments, but she soon lifted her own hands to pull him softly away.

"You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice a harsh whisper. "It's a trap-"

"I know."

He could see in her eyes that she had not come here by accident. She was suited like a W.R.O. Operative, dressed in black Kevlar with military gear strapped around her torso. At her waist hung a Turk's standard issue rod, and on her arms lay two gauntlets shining with Materia. She was ready for a fight.

Rhea suddenly opened his injured palm, plucking out the blood-soaked cloth. She inspected the gash, her eyes softening. "You're hurt," she said, tracing her finger along it. Rufus winced and sucked in air. She pulled her finger back apologetically, then laid her own palm against his. With a light squeezed, Rhea closed her eyes. After a moment, soft green energy began pulsing around where their flesh met, and Rufus felt a combination of agonizing pain and sweet relief in the palm of his hand. Rhea's hair whipped around as if blown by a directionless wind. Slowly, the energy faded away, and Rhea pulled her hand out of his grasp. A short, ragged scar lay where the gash had once been, completely healed.

Rufus folded his hand into a fist, and felt not one bit of pain. He looked up at Rhea, whose eyes had fallen open, and he was filled with a crushing guilt.

"Rhea, I am..._so_ sorry to have put you in this position," he whispered. "I have been a tyrant in your life. You deserve so much more-"

"Please stop," she interrupted, averting her gaze. "I didn't come here for apologies..." When she returned her gaze to him, the fire was gone from her eyes. "But I do have one question..." There was hesitance in her voice-tangible self-doubt. "I saw my file when I was in your office... Why didn't you reccommend me for relocation assistance?"

Rufus again felt a twinge of guilt. He wished he could wipe away everything he'd done to her, both good and bad, and simply start again. "Honestly..." he began, trying his best to hold her pained gaze. "I didn't think you could be saved. You have proved me..._entirely _wrong."

Rhea closed her eyes, and Rufus reached out touch her face with his fingertips. He pulled her into him, resting his forehead against her own, simply rejoicing in the feel of her beside him. He would never forsake that closeness again.

Their moment was cut short by the familiar sound of maniacal laughter. Rhea's eyes flew open, the fire returned to them. She stood, placing her body in front of Rufus, spreading her arms out protectively.

Deimos, pointing a handgun in their direction, glared at Rhea for a moment before his face contorted with amusement. He lowered his weapon as laughter racked his body. "You're an even bigger fool than he is," Deimos spat between laughs, pointing his gun at Rufus. "They sent _you_ here to rescue him? Of all people?"

Rhea held her head high, ignoring his cruel humor. "I'm here to negotiate," she said sternly. "My blood for an end to the seige."

Deimos again erupted with laughter. "There will be no _negotiations_ here!" he cried. "I have you exactly where I want you. I don't need to give up anything."

He approached her slowly, and Rhea backed herself closer to Rufus.

"You see, Rhea, I've done what no one else has ever done before-I've created a drug that seizes control of the human brain," he brought his gun to his head, tapping his temple menacingly. "I don't need your consent. I don't need to stop the seige. I don't even need to let him go. I just need _you_."

He pointed his weapon directly between Rhea's eyes. He then jerked his head over his shoulder toward the door. "Walk," he demanded. Rhea stood stone-still, her eyes staring straight past the barrel of the gun and into his own. "Walk, you fucking bitch!_" _he screamed, flailing the gun wildly, "Or I swear to Gaia I'll blow his _fucking_ brains out!"

Rhea winced away from him, grabbing Rufus's arm. In return, he slipped his hand up into her own and squeezed it tightly. Deimos pulled the hammer of the gun back, his hand shaking with rage. Slowly, Rhea fell into step, Rufus behind her, hands linked together. Deimos kept his weapon trained on them until they were out the door, following them through the hall and out into the reactor. They then made their way into to the main holding chamber and down to the catwalk suspended above it. There, Cora waited patiently beside the main flow pipe.

Rhea stopped midway across the catwalk. Behind her, Deimos holstered his weapon, and he came around in front of her. She met his eyes with renewed vigor, a gaze of flicking amber flames. "What happens next?" she asked sternly.

Deimos scoffed. "Whatever I want," he replied. He then reached into his back pocket and retrieved a small black pouch, out of which he pulled a vial of golden liquid and a syringe. Rhea took a deep breath in. Rufus squeezed her hand again.

"I _could_ inject you with this...and make you my slave," Deimos said casually, pulling the serum into the syringe. "But I have a much better idea."

The grin that fell across his face was one of pure insanity. His eyes bored into Rhea's skull, extinguishing the fire that burned in her. Like lightning, he turned and whipped his hand toward Rufus, stabbing the syringe deep into his neck. Rhea screamed as she watched the serum sink into his body, his eyes filling with a golden glow. She felt his hand go slack and slip from her fingertips. Frantically, she pushed Deimos away, pulling the syringe out and grabbing hold of Rufus's slumped shoulders.

"No!" she sobbed, shaking him vigorously. "No, don't leave me..._please_..."

She felt him stiffen beneath her grasp, golden gaze snapping up and staring past her, straight at Deimos. She turned her own eyes at the freak, filled with tears.

"Rufus," he said. "Take her to the DNA sensor."

As soon as the command was uttered, Rhea felt his hand close around her arm, and he whipped it around behind her back painfully. She cried out and doubled over in agony. Without pause, he jerked her body forward, pushing her across the catwalk. She turned into him and pulled at his hand. "_No_," she sobbed, trying to catch his golden stare with hers. "Come back to me Rufus. Come back!"

He would not even look at her. Deimos laughed as he walked ahead of them, preparing the DNA sensor on the main flow pipe.

Rhea was only steps away from the end of the catwalk when Cora let out an ear-piercing cry behind them. Rhea wheeled around to see a head of red hair flying out of the darkness, headed straight for her. With a grunt, Rufus was tackled to the ground, freeing Rhea. She backed into the railing and turned to see the melee before her.

Reno pressed his rod into Rufus's throat, who reached toward Reno's face with his bare hands. "Take out Deimos!" Reno cried to his sister, fire blazing blue in his eyes.

Rhea snapped her attention to Deimos, who was pulling his gun from its holster. Without a moment of hesitation, she swept in and detracted her rod, slamming it down onto his oustretched wrist and sending the firearm tumbling to the catwalk. He roared in pain. She kicked the gun off the edge and watched it fall into the swirling Mako below. With a flick of her hand, she sent a bolt of white energy from the tip of the rod, wrapping it around Deimos's wrist and chaining him to the railing of the catwalk. He turned his white eye on her and struggled against his bond; his gaze exploded with rage.

"How does it _feel_," she uttered as she approached, sending blood-red sparks from the end of the rod, "to be trapped like a rat?"

"_Look out!"_

She wheeled around, raising the rod just in time to parry Cora's dual wakizashi. She pushed the swords away and bent backward to avoid another slash, swiping the rod sideways to block a third. She sent out a Fire spell to push Cora back before launching herself forward, past Reno and Rufus wrestling on the ground. She made a clean swing for the woman's head, but found the rod met with the clash of one of her swords. Rhea dipped out of the way to avoid a stab from the other and sent out another Fire spell, slamming Cora into the railing of the catwalk. The woman hoisted herself onto it and jumped to avoid another swing of Rhea's rod, scrambling onto a pipe several feet above the catwalk. Rhea growled and launched herself off the railing as well, grabbing hold of the edge of the pipe and swinging herself onto it.

"_Kill her, Cora!" _screamed Deimos from below. "_Take her fucking head off!_"

At this, Cora flipped one of her wakizashi to a backward hold before lunging at Rhea, swiping both of them to Rhea's weak side. She parried the first swing, but had to spin around to avoid the other, leaving her back exposed. With another quick swipe, Cora brought her swords across Rhea's back, cutting a shallow X through the Kevlar and into her flesh. With a scream of pain, Rhea fled and spun around to raise her rod defensively.

Below them, Reno sparred with the puppeted Rufus, his rod tucked back into his belt to level the playing field. Rufus swung his fists at Reno with proficiency beyond his skill level-Rufus had not been trained in hand-to-hand combat. Despite this, Reno blocked each of his attacks, but refrained from counterattacking. "Rufus!" he cried between blows. "Stop! It's me! I don't want to hurt you!"

Deimos, still chained to the catwalk, laughed manaically behind them. "He can't hear you," he spat, pulling at his bond. The energy had worn into his skin, drawing blood. "He's miles away now-he doesn't even know what he's doing or how he's doing it. _I_ made him. I _control_ him." Deimos stood and lunged at them, held back by the bond around his wrist. "_Kill him, you useless puppet!" _he cried. "_Beat him down like the dog he is!_"

Rufus reacted as if he'd been threatened with a whip-he threw himself at Reno, his fists a blur a they cut through the air. Reno backed against the railing of the catwalk, raising his arms defensively. Rufus drilled his fists to his head and torso until they came back bloody. Reno's defenses were wearing down-he knew he must counterattack.

"I'm sorry, Boss," he whispered. He then grabbed Rufus by the arm and pushed down hard on his shoulder, bringing his free hand into his side to flip Rufus over and slam him down to the catwalk face-first. Reno flung himself on Rufus before he could get up, wrapping his arm around his throat and squeezing tightly. He felt Rufus going limp beneath him, his puppeted brain depleting of oxygen. Before he passed out, Rufus managed to throw his head back into Reno's face, causing him to stumble back, nose leaking red blood. Rufus scrambled to his feet and raised his bloody fists, ready for a second round.

Above, Rhea and Cora stared each other down, Rhea's face set with determination, Cora's with a smug sneer. Blood dripped down Rhea's back from where the wakizashi had grazed the first layer of her skin. With a deep breath, Rhea stepped into an offensive stance, prompting Cora to fall into a defensive one. In the blink of an eye, Rhea pushed off hard on the pipe and flew like a bullet through the air, unleashing a barage of swings at her enemy. Cora managed to block each attack, but Rhea took the opportunity to swing her left hand in and send out a Fire spell from her gauntlet, straight into Cora's torso. The spell sent her flying back across the pipe, hitting the support pylon behind her.

Rhea smiled and twirled her rod in the air as Cora struggled to her feet, her forehead running with blood from a gash on her head. She gripped her wakizashi as if trying to strangle them, anger pouring from her black eyes. Rhea stepped backward and held her rod out before her, preparing for a counterattack. She predicted correctly: with a roar of rage, Cora launched herself at Rhea, one of her swords leading the other in a stabbing motion. Rhea ducked out of the way just in time and wrapped her arm around Cora's outstretched one, using the woman's momentum to swing her around and throw her down to the catwalk below. Cora cried out as she landed hard on the metal grates, cracking them with the force of the impact.

Rhea wasted no time and jumped down to the catwalk, stradling Cora's limp body. She coiled her arm back and swung for the woman's head, but Cora managed to lift one of her wakizashi up to block the blow. Rhea's swing instead came down on her wrist with a loud _crack_. Cora howled in pain, the sword flying from her grasp and slinding across the catwalk. Rhea reached down and grabbed Cora by the collar of her shirt, bringing her rod back over her shoulder for the knockout blow.

Suddenly, a loud cry stopped the entire melee.

"_ENOUGH!_"

Rhea's eyes snapped up to Deimos, who was standing, his arm still hooked to the railing. He was holding Cora's discarded wakizashi. He brought the sword down on the energy bond, breaking it instantly. Rhea dropped Cora and took a step back. "Rufus, let that traitor go!" Deimos shouted. Behind her, Rufus released his choke hold on Reno, who dropped to the catwalk coughing. "It seems my puppets aren't as perfect as I'd come to believe. Can't even defeat one ridiculous Turk and bring me a traitorous little wench." He walked slowly toward the group of them, brandishing the weapon in his hand. "But it doesn't matter. I will have my Mako, one way or another." He raised the wakizashi and pointed it at Rhea, who inhaled sharply and raised her rod. "You've made your choice. I hope you're happy with it."

Before Rhea had even realized it, the sword was released from his hand, cutting through the air right beside her cheek. Behind her, she heard it sink into flesh, and her heart stopped beating. She turned around to see Rufus lift his hand to his chest, touching the hilt of the sword left protruding from it. He stumbled backward and blinked. The gold glow fell from his eyes just before his body went limp, slipping over the railing and tumbling down into the Mako below.

Rhea felt her lungs fill with a cry of pure agony. In the moments that followed, her body acted on its own will, spurred by some unseen force: she rushed to the edge of the catwalk and threw herself over it, arms outstretched as if reaching for an embrace. She tucked her hands together as she neared the surface of the Mako, cutting through its blue-green glow. She opened her stinging eyes and searched the swirling depths. A few feet below, twisted limbs sunk deep into the neverending tank, Mako tinted red in their wake. She swam with great haste into the darkness until all she could see was the disappating trail of blood. She followed it and reached helplessly into the dark, hands finally closing around a limp arm. She slipped her own beneath it, wrapping it around his torso and turning to make for the glowing surface. As her lungs begged for air and darkness closed around the edges of her vision, soft whispers seemed to bubble up from the depths of the tank, beckoning her to their realm. She fought and kicked and pushed, and her body became vaguely aware of a vibration rumbling through the thick plasmatic Mako. She burst to the surface, air filling her lungs like being born again. Beneath her arm, Rufus lay limp-wakizashi protruding from each side of his chest.

Up above, Reno leaned over the side of the catwalk, screaming down at her. The rumbling grew louder and the Mako lashed around in response to it.

"_Meltdown!_" Reno cried. "_The whole thing is collapsing!_"

Rhea had no more energy left to panic. She could not see Deimos nor Cora on the catwalk above, and below, the Mako was moving more and more violently, threatening to rise right out of the tank. She spied the spot where Cora's body had cracked the grate in the catwalk, and she motioned for Reno to move. "_Get back!_"

He sprinted to the opposite end, pressing himself against the railing. Rhea brought her free arm back, throwing it forward and sending out an enormous Ice spell. The magic struck the catwalk and sheared it in half. The grates fell away from each other, creaking as they toppled over, both ends splashing into the rising Mako. The impact sent a wave of through the surface of it, and Rhea had to cling to Rufus to keep him from slipping away. Frantically, she made for the floating catwalk, Reno now slipping down to the edge of it. Bits of pipe and ducting and wires were coming down all around them, the sound of groaning metal amplified by the concave ceiling of the reactor.

When Rhea reached the catwalk, Reno reached out and grabbed Rufus's arm, slinging it over his shoulder to allow for Rhea to pull herself up. They made for the ladders nearby, the rails of them threatening to vibrate right off the walls. Reno slung Rufus's limp arms around his shoulders, held in place by one of his hands, the other gripping to the ladder as he climbed.

By the time they reached the upper levels, the entire reactor was quaking as if held in the palm of a god's hand. Rhea scooped up Rufus's limp arm, the other held by Reno, and together they dragged him toward the emergency exit on the other side of the room. There, the cement stairs were cracking from the force of the tremors, but survival instinct continued to spur them on. Suddenly, one of the wrought iron railings came tumbling down the staircase from several floors above, sheared metal falling end over end through the air. Reno turned his body around, shielding both Rufus and Rhea with it and leaving his back exposed. Rhea cried out when she heard the force of an impact, but her eyes were temporarily blinded by a bright flash of light. She opened them just in time to see a shimmering shield disappear into thin air. On Reno's gauntlet, a green Barrier Materia glowed hotly.

"Come on," he shouted over the sound of destruction, pulling them both further up the stairs. When they reached the top, Reno burst through the door and onto the bridge which led to the train station. As they sprinted across it, the bridge swayed dangerously, and the end that connected to the reactor soon crumbled away. They reached the safety of the plate on the other side just in time, and they turned around to watch the entire reactor implode on itself in a burning hurricane of blue flame.


	16. Cling

**AN: **Not much to say to preface this one—don't want to give anything away! I did want to take a minute to thank everyone for reading, though. I broke 1,000 views this past week, and that's just wonderful :) Thanks to all those who are reviewing as well. Your thoughts on the story are always appreciated. As always, leave a follow, favorite, or review if you enjoyed this chapter.

* * *

When Rufus regained command of his mind, his thoughts still did not feel like his own. He could not will his eyes open or his limbs to move, but he knew Deimos was no longer in control either. He was vaguely aware of the things he'd done while under his spell: he caught glimpses of Rhea's tear-filled eyes, heard her cries of pain, felt his fingers around her arm and the punches he threw with reckless abandon. He wished he hadn't remembered these things—he knew he would never be able to purge them from his memory.

As he recalled these events with painful remorse, Rufus tried to determine where he was. Without his eyes or hands to guide him, he could only wonder. He felt as though he were suspended in zero gravity, his hair and clothing moving weightlessly. Somehow he knew it was dark—a dark so deep he could feel it, pressing against him and threatening to swallow him whole.

From somewhere deep in this void, a soft hum began to reach his ears. At first it sounded like nothing more than static—white noise growing in a delicate crescendo—but as it grew nearer, it began to form words. These whispers sounded almost as if they were in a different language, but they somehow seemed to make sense in his mind, so many different messages overlapping and contradicting one another. They overwhelmed his thoughts and filled him with clashing emotions, all of them fighting for control. He felt helpless—lying there in the blackness, limbs and muscles and reflexes like dead weight on his body.

Suddenly, the voices began shouting at him. They accused him of terrible things, all of which he knew he was guilty. They dredged up memories that had been squeezed into the farthest reaches of his mind—the time he'd killed his pet mouse on purpose, or when he'd kicked a slum beggar when he tried to grab his jacket. Like rushing water, they all came flooding back, and his body began to quake with fear.

"Stop," he begged, more with his mind than with his mouth. "Please, stop..."

But they would not. With careful and excruciating detail, the voices reminded him of each and every person that had perished in the fall of Meteor.

"_I'm sorry_—"

Everything stopped when he felt soft lips pressing against his own. Will and want came rushing back to him, and he suddenly remembered how to move. He shot his eyes open to see Rhea's face inches from his own, her body tense beneath his embrace, eyes closed. She lifted one shaking hand and pressed against his chest, and as if stung by electricity, he brought his lips away from hers.

After a moment of confusion, he came to realize he was standing in the kitchen of her apartment, the familiar light of dawn reaching through the windows on the other side of the room. She was dressed as if she'd just awoken, hair drawn into a frazzled braid, loose clothing exposing the soft curves of her.

Rufus felt a strange surge of guilt when she turned away from him, and he wasn't sure why. All he wanted was to take her in his arms and feel the warm radiance of her, to run his hands along the cool flesh on the underside of her arms. But she lifted her hand to her mouth and covered it shamefully.

"Leave," she whispered. He approached her, feeling as though his body had stayed behind. He reached to cup her cheek softly, but his hand fell right through her, into a void of nothingness. She spun on him just then, and he realized that her eyes were not looking _at_ him, but _rather_ through him. "_Get out_!"

He turned around, and as if he were looking in a mirror, he saw himself standing stone-still against the whispered light of dawn. It struck him like a gunshot. Frantically, he moved to grab his own body, but again his hands fell through it. The copy of him obeyed Rhea's demand, and Rufus backed himself to the door in an attempt to block it. "No," he hissed, but the empty shell now brushed its way past Rhea. "Don't leave her, you fool. Stay. _Stay_."

But he did not. Rufus pressed his hand on the door, but his ghost wrenched it open with little effort, sending him stumbling back. When the door slammed closed again, white light flooded his vision as if meaning to blind him. The whispers returned like a rising tide, but above them all rang Rhea's painful sobs.

* * *

Rhea laid Rufus on his side on the brick path leading to what used to be the Sector 3 reactor. Behind her, its smoldering remains still creaked and groaned, Mako spilling out of the cracks in its decimated hull. She cared very little for the fate of this reactor, or even Deimos or Cora. Her thoughts remained only on Rufus. She could feel his skin growing cold beneath her touch, cheeks drained of color, chest barely moving. She reached out to touch the stiff lines of his face, feeling his energy fading like sun into the night. "No..." she whispered. "No, no, _no_..."

Anxious, she turned her attention to the wakizashi—it had been buried to the hilt in his chest, dangerously close to his heart. The blade was probably the only thing keeping him alive, but it would not stay that way for long. It must be removed, and she would have to act fast or he would bleed out in minutes.

Behind her, Reno paced nervously. "Shit," he hissed, his voice nearly lost in the wave of crunching metal. "What are we going to do?"

Rhea grasped her brother's sleeve as he passed by. "Come here," she ordered, pulling him down on the other side of Rufus's body. "Put your hands on his back," she instructed. "When I pull it out, put pressure on the wound, as hard as you can. Understand?" She recognized the look of panic in his eyes—she was sure she had it too. This man meant a great deal to both of them, and he was now teetering on the edge of life and death. Nothing could have prepared them for this moment.

When Reno nodded, Rhea reached down and placed one hand on the hilt of the blade and the other on his chest. She took a deep breath, gaze transfixed on his pale face, blank and vacant. After a moment, she closed her eyes and pulled hard, uttering a small cry. The blade slipped out of his limp body, and warm red blood poured from the wound left behind. Frantically, she pressed both hands onto it, Reno copying her. With as much strength and energy as she could muster, she conjured a Cure spell from somewhere deep within her soul. It seeped out of her mind and down her shoulders, around the quivering length of her arms and out her fingertips. She closed her eyes and imagined her mother, smiling softly at her, but this time it wasn't enough. Perhaps it never had been.

Her spell weakened, the pale green glow fighting to seal up irreparable damage. She could feel her arms shaking and her forehead breaking out in a cold sweat. Across from her, Reno gazed upon his sister with fear and awe, unsure as to whether or not she was healing Rufus or hurting herself.

Rhea pushed her spirit harder, her lungs releasing a pained moan, jaw clenched and aching. Every ounce of energy she had flowed from her fingertips, but still blood coursed out beneath them. He was fading. With one last cry, she pushed down hard, calling on the knowledge and wisdom of the Restore Materia, begging it to seal the wound and spare his life.

The green glow suddenly faded, and Rhea nearly collapsed over his body. Reno caught her and held her up until she regained control of herself. With deep, strained breaths, she looked down to assess her work. The pure white cotton of his suit had been stained almost entirely red, but she felt beneath the tear in the fabric that his wound had indeed been healed.

Relieved, Rhea lifted her hand and brushed it across his forehead. She brought it away almost instantly—still cold. Ice cold. Her breaths quickened with panic, hands coming down to cup his cheeks and shake him lightly. "No," she whispered, brushing blood across his brow with her stained fingertips. She watched his lifeless face with hopeful eyes. "You can't do this to me again. You _can't._"Tears streamed down her face in salty rivers, slipping off the edge of her jaw as she shook him. "Come back!" she cried. She slipped her hands beneath his arms and lifted his chest off the ground. "Come back..."

She held his cold body close to her, his head lolling back, face turned up to the sky. She buried her cheek into his sweat-slicked hair. He still smelled like cotton and ash. She sobbed and rocked him like a child, supporting his head with her bloodied hand.

Reno watched her as if she were a wounded animal caught in a hunter's trap. He shuffled toward her and reached to take her arms away from the body, but she wrenched herself out of his grasp. He fell away, his spirit burdened with pity.

The empty city had fallen quiet in the minutes that passed. The reactor was now no more than a heap of smoldering Mako, hardened and fused with sheared steel. Even Rhea's sobs dwindled into nothingness, her chest still as stone, barely breathing. Somewhere beyond Midgar's dead borders, thunder sounded. Slowly, she lifted her head, empty eyes trailing up to the gray sky. She gazed into the clouds as if someone were staring back at her.

"Give him back to me."

Her voice rang like wind through crystals, sharp, and unhindered by tears. She was no longer pleading, no longer begging, but demanding.

"Give him _back!_"

She dug her fingernails into his shoulder blades, pressing him so close to her they nearly became one. She continued to stare into the swirling clouds as if waiting for a reply.

She opened her mouth again to speak, but the words never came to her lips. Instead, a ray of red light suddenly pierced through the clouds and shined down on her, setting her body alight as if bathed in fire. Everything around her faded into blackness as the glow cloaked her, then pulsed outward in a warm wind, pushing Reno back several feet. Her hair began to float as if a force were pulling her up into the sky, but her body remained rooted to the ground, arms clinging desperately to Rufus.

Her head suddenly flew back, eyes wide and locked on the opening in the clouds. The light shone through her amber irises like sun through raindrops. Slowly, a twinkling star began to sink out of the void in the sky, floating down in a gentle spiral, too bright to look at, and yet too mesmerizing to look away. It nestled itself at the place where their bodies touched. After a moment that could have been an eternity, it faded away like a dying planet, bringing the red glow with it.

As the darkness faded, Rhea's body wilted like a puppet cut from its strings. She collapsed to the ground, Rufus falling down beside her. Like discarded dolls, they faced one another. Reno wanted to rush to them, but something held him back—thick, warm air pressed on his chest like a hand, restraining him. From this distance, he could see that Rhea's eyes remained open—_alive_. She looked upon Rufus with neither hope nor despair.

Suddenly, Rufus's red-stained chest began to move. A stream of blood trickled out of his half-parted lips, and he shuddered where he lay, twisting and convulsing with life. He coughed violently and turned toward the ground, expelling bright red blood from his mouth.

His eyes flew open and locked on hers.

Blue.

Though their bodies were weak, pushed to the brink and beyond, their gazes remained strong—azure against amber like a sunset over water. Their eyes proclaimed the things which an entire lifetime of words could not. They belonged to each other now.

They inched their hands toward one another across the cold ground, lacing fingers together with the last fragment of energy they possessed.

* * *

Rufus awoke to the sound of crashing waves. He lay with his eyes closed for several minutes, simply enjoying the pulsing sound of rushing and receding water. In the silence between them, he swore he could hear soft breathing, steadier than the waves themselves. When he opened his eyes, they were met with the warm glare of the sinking sun pouring through a wooden window frame. The light blinded him temporarily, until he gathered the energy to lift a hand to block it out.

The room was simple and quiet, with walls of wood planks and the vague smell of sea foam. Above him, a fan of palm fronds circled lazily. He guessed by the modest furniture that he'd been brought to Mideel, which had served as a center for healing and recovery ever since its reconstruction.

As Rufus surveyed his surroundings, his eyes soon fell on a shaded figure curled on a couch on the other side of the room. Red hair was sprawled across her face and down her arched back, a tiny lock of it sinking and falling with each breath. A soft smile came to his lips as he watched her, wishing he could find the strength to rise and join her—but she looked far too peaceful to wake.

Rufus let his head fall back to the pillow, his hand coming to fold over his chest. Beneath the soft linen of his shirt, he felt a thick, half-healed scar just below his heart. He remembered the sharp and relentless pain of a blade, but he could barely recall the moment it had entered him. Everything between the reactor and this moment was a blur, aching memories stirring in the back of his mind, unreachable.

Suddenly, the sound of voices broke the humid air. Even muffled by the walls and door, Rufus could tell who they belonged to.

"I'm telling you Reeve, it was the most amazing thing I've ever seen." Reno's voice was raised and eager. "It came out of the sky like a Summon!"

"But… Rhea would have had to be extremely skilled to perform a spell of that magnitude…" Reeve's voice was deep and pensive. "And you're sure he was…_gone_?"

Reno scoffed. "Trust me. Not even a Phoenix Down could have brought him back."

"You do understand what you're saying, right?" Reeve continued. "You're saying a Life spell brought a man back from the dead. That's impossible."

"I'm just telling you what I saw."

"Perhaps he wasn't dead…" Reeve said. "Not really."

There was a short pause. "I guess we'll just have to ask him ourselves."

Slowly, Rufus processed this astonishing information. He now remembered clearly the heated whispers and black void that had taken over his mind after he'd been released from Deimos's spell. There, he'd come face to face with the worst of his memories, the ones he'd buried under years of falsities and untruths. He remembered all the times he'd made the wrong choice, when it should have been so much easier to make the right one. He remembered the tragic consequences of those choices. And, with great shame, he remembered the never-ending struggle to atone for them.

His thoughts were interrupted at the sound of the door creaking open. A head of red hair peeked through the crack in it, pushing it all the way open when he realized Rufus was awake.

Reno approached him, Reeve close behind, and offered him a warm smile. "Hey there, Boss," he said. "Welcome back to the land of the living. I'm starting to think you really do have nine lives."

Rufus returned the smile and moved to get up, but was met with two hands on his shoulder, one from either man.

"Careful now," said Reeve. "You need to rest. You've suffered some intense trauma."

Rufus exhaled sharply. "I heard," he said. "You really should learn to keep your voice down, Reno."

The redhead smiled nervously.

Rufus suddenly caught sight of movement behind the pair. He followed Rhea with his eyes as her body passed in front of the light. Reno and Reeve turned to her, watching reverently as she passed between them like a spirit, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. She lifted her hand and gently laid it over his heart, eyes never leaving his.

Reno placed his hand on Reeve's arm and motioned for the exit. They left the room in silence.

When the door fell closed, Rufus smiled up at Rhea and slipped his hand over hers. It concerned him that she didn't smile back.

"You did this," he said softly.

She blinked and tilted her head, brushing her thumb across the warm scar beneath his shirt.

"You saved me."

Rhea searched his eyes for a long time, her gaze filled with uncertainty. "How?" she asked quietly. "You were gone. I felt you leave me."

Rufus took a deep breath, and, after a light squeeze of her hand, he nodded. "I was there. In the Lifestream. And it was in me." He paused, watching her eyes go wide with understanding. "But something didn't want me there." He turned her hand over, slipping his fingers between hers. "I've made too many mistakes," he said. "I have too many sins to atone for. I never thought I'd be thankful for them. They sent me back to you."

He watched her eyes begin to shine, but she blinked hard and turned away before any tears could form. She stood and walked to the window, her body glowing against the gold light. "He's going to pay for what he did to you," she said.

Rufus pushed himself up, with some effort, to a sitting position. "What happened to them?" he asked.

Rhea turned to him and crossed her arms. "Reno said they escaped when the reactor started to melt down."

"There was a meltdown?"

Rhea nodded.

"What caused it?"

She averted his eyes for a moment, then walked back toward him, touching his arm softly. "I think it was you," she said, sitting on the edge of the bed again.

Rufus shook his head, his brow knit in confusion.

"The serum Deimos created was an intensely corrupted form of Mako," she continued. She moved her hand to place it over his heart again. "When you fell into holding tank—containing the purest form of Mako—the serum leaked out with your blood, and the two didn't mix well." She gave a small smile. "You contaminated that entire reactor and kept him from getting a single ounce of Mako."

Rufus had to laugh at the cruel irony. Deimos's insatiable desire for torture had sabotaged his plans. Rufus was only disappointed it had not ended in Deimos's death instead.

"What happened to Edge?" he asked, suddenly remembering the siege that had been ordered shortly after his capture.

"The Turks and the W.R.O. Suppressed the attacks," she replied. "Seems they had a little help from some mercenaries as well."

Rufus smiled to himself, knowing exactly which gang of misfits she was referring to. "And Deimos's soldiers?"

"The ones that weren't killed were captured and put in holding cells," Rhea explained. "They've been completely unresponsive ever since."

Rufus sighed deeply at this thought. Had he not had a close brush with death, he might still be locked under Deimos's spell, acting as his guard dog. "At least we've cut off his clan," he said.

Rhea pulled her legs up against her chest, resting her chin on her knees. "It's only a matter of time before he gets more followers," she muttered. "He'll find another abandoned reactor and start the process all over again."

"I'll set the Turks on him before he can even think about it," Rufus assured her.

"It's not enough." She stood again and paced the floor, eyes wide and untamed. "I'll hunt him down myself if I have to. What I wouldn't give to make him suffer..."

Rufus suddenly stood, supporting himself on the table beside the bed.

Rhea broke from her brooding thoughts and rushed to him, supporting his body with hers. "What are you doing?" she hissed disapprovingly.

"Please don't go," he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. "Your revenge isn't enough to stop him."

Rhea felt a warmth spread in her cheeks and chest as he pulled her in close to him. She looked up and saw the urgency in his eyes. "But..."

"I need you here," he insisted. "By my side."

Rhea lifted his arm from around her shoulder and led him back to the bed, setting him down onto it. She watched the look of pain that spread across his face as he lay back, and a knife of anger twisted in her stomach. She was not content to let Deimos continue his delusional rampage, or to go on thinking that he'd really killed the last heir to the Shinra Company. As much as she wanted to forget all about him and move on with her life, the debt would never be settled as long as Deimos lived.

"You don't understand," she whispered, brushing her hand against his cheek. "He almost took everything from me. And the worst part about it…is that I _gave_ him the power to do it." Rufus lowered his eyes and turned his head into her touch. "It's time I took that power away from him."

Rufus nodded understandingly. "I won't stop you," he said, "not if it's what you really want." He expected a look of relief to come over her at this, but her expression remained unchanged, eyes still filled with uncertainty and concern. "But could you do me the mercy of staying one more night?" His words surprised her—it was unlike him to ask for favors. "And leave before I wake up. We haven't had to say goodbye yet. Why start now?"

She looked down on him with compassion now, a true smile coming to her lips for the first time in weeks. Carefully, she lay down beside him, nestling her body close under the covers, face-to-face. Rufus let his eyes roam over every visible inch of her, wondering how he had ever, or could ever again let her go.

Time passed like a steady breeze, and as night fell, he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

In the night, he woke just once. He thought he felt her move, but it was only to bring herself closer to him.

* * *

**AN: **Yay he lived! Just wanted to clear this up in case of any confusion: In the games, Revive/Life spells don't bring people back from the dead, they just awaken people that have been knocked out, or lost the will to live. So while Rufus did nearly die, a little part of him was still holding on, and Rhea was able to capitalize on it with her Life spell. I wanted to explain that a little bit so I could stay as canon as possible. Hope it didn't trip anyone up!


	17. Blood

**AN: **Hey all! Sorry for the somewhat slow update on this one. After all that action in the previous chapter, it was somewhat tough to get back into the slower storytelling. As such, this chapter is kind of boring. It's basically just a big plot filler to explain some of the nuts and bolts of the story. I hope you enjoy it anyway. Leave a follow, favorite, or review to tell me what you think about it!

* * *

When Rufus awoke again to the sound of crashing waves, he found his arm had been curled around something warm. However, his eyes fluttered open to the empty white linen of a pillow in place of Rhea's body, as he'd hoped. With a sigh, he pushed it indignantly to the floor and rolled onto his back. Above his head, the palm fronds still moved in slow, perfect circles. The movement comforted him for a while, but its persistence eventually began to make him dizzy. His body was growing cold in the absence of the pillow.

He grunted as he rose to a sitting position, looking around the gray-lit room for any sign of Rhea—or anyone, for that matter. The entire lodge felt empty. No familiar voices moved through the walls or floorboards, no heavy footsteps to echo across the humid air. He was not surprised that Rhea had left—she had done what he'd asked, and he hadn't expected anything more from her. But he couldn't pretend that he wasn't saddened by it. Sadness. A strange feeling for Rufus Shinra, a man of practiced stoicism and indifference. He'd felt it only a few times in his existence, but had always considered it to be useless to his development as a person and a ruler. In recent years, he'd accepted a few more qualities in order to become a more well-rounded politician—compassion, empathy, honesty, charisma—but sadness still had no place in his life. He'd never let himself get close enough to anything to feel sad about it. It was a rude awakening to suddenly feel it so deeply, tumbling around in the cage of his ribs, just below his heart.

Rufus slipped his legs out from beneath the sheets and let his bare feet touch the cool hardwood floors. It sent a shock through his body, making him aware of all its aches and pains, specifically the weakness he felt in the core of his chest. He sat on the edge of the bed for several moments, watching the surf pound the shore outside the window. He remembered how much he had once loved the sea, always preferring the comfort of his apartment in Junon, with its wall-to-wall view of the ocean, to his dingy flat at the Shinra Headquarters in Midgar.

He decided after a while that he should go down and put his feet in the water, at the very least to exercise his wasted muscles and practice walking again. A pair of crutches leaned against the wall, and on the surface of the bedside table had been laid out the remainder of his belongings, pulled from the pockets of his blood-soaked clothing: his badge, wallet, a lighter, and a pack of cigarettes. He pocketed them all and rose slowly, pulling one crutch under his arm, leaving the other behind. Limping, he made his way out of the room, down the stairs, and out the back door of the lodge. It was a slow walk over the sandy dunes, but he took time to appreciate the beauty of it: gray twilight filtered through approaching storm clouds, the thick smell of salt and sand, a breeze that caught his hair and clothes like sails. He was happy to be alive.

When he reached the wet sand of the tide line, he stopped. He watched the surf surge back, tumbling over itself, gathering strength, until a larger wave overtook it and pushed the foaming water up onto the shore, spitting and bubbling. It rushed around his ankles, cool energy shooting up his legs and spine. As the wave slipped back toward the ocean to gather again, his feet sank slowly into the wet sand, buried by a ceaseless, orbital pull.

Rufus leaned on the crutch for support and fished his lighter and cigarettes from his pocket. He pulled one out and slipped it between his lips, raising the lighter to strike the flint. The flame would not hold. He was unable to lift his other hand to shield it, occupied with a tenuous grip on the crutch that dug into his side.

Suddenly, he heard the sound of a flame striking to life behind him. Reflexes dulled by pain and drugs, he turned in a slow circle until he was face-to-face with a pair of amber eyes, flames dancing in them. A small smile curved at the corners of her lips as she extended the lighter—the one he'd given her—cradling it in her hands like a treasure.

Rufus leaned in and lit his cigarette, puffing warm smoke onto the fickle breeze. He pulled it away and mirrored her sly smile.

"You stayed."

Rhea flipped the cover of the golden lighter closed. "I slept in a little longer than I planned."

"And still, you were up before me," Rufus replied.

"Those drugs had you knocked out," Rhea joked, her smile growing a bit bigger. "Doesn't seem to be holding you back too much though."

"Few things do."

Her smile disappeared at this. She stared at him as if he'd just been impaled all over again. Not even the beauty of the morning or the pulse of the sea could wash away the harsh realities that had brought them here.

"Why did you stay?" he asked at last, bringing life back to her glassy eyes.

She moved to stand beside him, letting her bare feet enter the line of the tide along with his. "I've been thinking," she began, lifting her long, sheer skirt as the surf crawled up the shore. "Even if I do manage to find them again, I'll be completely outmatched against the serum they've created. There's no way to fight it. Until we find an antidote or a vaccine, they'll always have the upper hand."

Rufus nodded in agreement, releasing a long, gray drag from his cigarette. The thought of Rhea falling under Deimos's control had been vexing him ever since she first mentioned leaving the night before. It was a fate he wished on nobody, not even his worst enemy.

"The soldiers captured during the siege still haven't snapped out of it," she explained further. "Reeve and Reno have gone back to Edge to start research on the serum."

Rufus shifted his crutch from one arm to the other, flicking his half-smoked cigarette into the white waves. "I should go back as well," he said. "I might be of some help to the investigation."

Rhea turned her head to him inquisitively. "No," she said. "You need to stay here and recover."

Rufus gave a soft laugh and reached his free hand to stroke the curve of her cheek. "You're starting to sound like me," he said, "trying to tell me what to do all the time."

She fought a timid smile, averting her eyes. "Don't joke," she said, slipping her hand into his own and dropping it between them.

"You'll just have to come with me, then, and make sure I'm recovering to your standards." His body swayed toward her, arm slipping up around her shoulders. "You can even lecture me when I start to feel faint."

She looked back up at him, her body a statue of gray light standing in the surf. There was no smile, neither on her lips nor in her eyes. "I really thought you were dead," she whispered.

He turned toward the ocean. "So did I."

* * *

Reno pushed his hair away from his forehead, his hand forming a shield against the harsh midday sun. The black chopper in the sky grew bigger and louder as it approached, until is blades whipped up a tornado of wind that threatened to tear his clothes off. Slowly, it touched down on the helipad a few yards away from him, its blades winding down, black doors thrown back. He jogged up to it just in time to see Rhea jump out. She turned around to help Rufus down, but he waved her hand away and stepped carefully onto the tarmac on his own accord. With the exception of a slight limp, it was hard to tell he'd suffered any trauma at all. His hair had been trimmed and styled, and he was wearing his signature white suit, freshly pressed.

When the door to the chopper slammed closed again, Rufus turned to Reno, who motioned for the entrance to the building on the other side of the roof. They all made for it, the whirr of the chopper blades fading to nothingness as the doors fell closed behind them.

"Glad to see you made it in one piece this time," Reno said to Rufus, who gave the redhead a small smile in return. "Come on. Reeve's got the eggheads hard at work down on the 67th floor."

After a short ride in the elevator, they arrived at the W.R.O. research facilities. Two infantrymen stood guard beside a frosted glass door, both nodding as Reno approached. He swiped his badge at the keypad, causing the door to slide open almost immediately. They stepped into a white-washed room filled with computers and terminals, dodging scientists in lab coats as they passed through it. To their right lay a line of huge bay windows, looking out over a sterilized room filled with workers in hazmat suits. Reno led the way past this area and into a long hallway lined with locked doors. He swiped his badge again beside the door at the very end, motioning for Rufus and Rhea to enter.

This room was much darker than the rest, with walls made of cinderblocks and small cone lights dotting the ceiling. It took Rhea a moment to grasp that she was now standing in a prison. The long hall was lined with glassed-in cells, all fitted with a sophisticated locking system. Inside each cell sat a man or woman dressed in all black with eyes like shimmering gold. They sat so still Rhea almost thought they might be dead, but as she moved, she realized each one of them was following her with their eyes.

Suddenly, Reeve rounded the corner, two lab assistants in tow. He hurried up to them with his hand extended to Rufus, who shook it gratefully.

"Rufus, I'm glad you're feeling better," he said. "You were in good hands, I'm sure."

Rufus's lips twitched, but he fought his smile down, keeping his attention focused on the task at hand. "Why don't you bring us up to speed?"

Reeve nodded, turning to the nearest cell. "Well, as you can see, the puppets have remained in their semi-catatonic state since their injection," he explained. "It seems time has no effect on their condition, which leads us to believe the serum has actually bonded with their cells to create a self-sufficient complex within their bodies."

Reno cleared his throat. "In English?"

"The serum appears to be acting as a sort of virus," he replied. "It has fused with their genetic makeup, causing it to seize control of their nervous systems, forcing them to follow the orders of the one that created it."

"So they're no longer human?" Rufus asked quietly.

"Not quite," Reeve replied. He motioned to one of his assistants, who held a small bottle of water in her hands. She moved toward one of the cells and opened a small compartment on the bottom its door, sliding the bottle across the ground. Slowly, the prisoner inside rose, crossed the floor, and picked up the bottle. He uncapped it and took several large gulps before setting it back on the ground again. His eyes never left the group of them.

"They seem to retain all their natural human instincts," Reeve continued. "They know they have to eat, they know they have to drink. We suspect they are also sleeping, despite never closing their eyes." He turned toward Rufus and Rhea. "We think there are humans still left inside these empty shells."

Rufus was staring at the puppet on the other side of the door, his eyes faraway as if remembering something buried deep in his mind. After a moment, he blinked, and his eyes came back to reality. "But how can we cure them?"

"That's what we're working on," Reeve replied. "Come with me."

He motioned for them to follow him out of the prison, back into the hall, and toward a door marked with a large red X. A swipe of his palm sent it flying open.

"We have one of our best researchers working on synthesizing an antidote," Reeve explained as they walked down another white-washed hall. "Shelke Rui. She's an ex-Deepground soldier with exceptional knowledge on the use and manipulation of Mako."

They rounded the corner to another examination room, this time much smaller and with only a few white lab coats milling about. As the group of them entered, a small girl with orange hair stood and crossed the room to greet them.

"Hello, Shelke," said Reeve.

"Good to see you again, Commissioner," the girl replied. Her voice was somewhat flat and clinical, but there was a brightness in her blue eyes. She turned to Rufus. "You must be President Shinra," she said, extending her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Rufus reciprocated the handshake. "Likewise," he said. He straightened up and shifted his weight to his good leg. "Now, what can you tell us about an antidote for the serum?"

Shelke nodded, leading the way over to an empty wall on the other side of the room. "So far, we've been unable to synthesize a working antidote from the blood of the puppets we've captured." She flipped a switch on the wall, causing it to fall away and reveal a row of windows. In the room beyond, a single chair sat fully reclined with a black-suited puppet strapped to it. Two researchers were hunched over him, an IV needle snaking out of his arm. They pushed a blue-gray serum into the puppet's body with a small syringe, causing him to thrash about in resistance. After a moment, he closed his eyes, only to open them a few moments later with the haunting gold glow still ever-present in them.

"Each time, they build up an immunity to our vaccines almost immediately," Shelke continued. "It's unlike anything I've ever seen before. This serum is incredibly adaptive." She turned back to the group of them, but her gaze fell straight to Rufus, who was staring down into the exam room with a faraway look in his eyes once more. "However," she said quietly, "it is my understanding that you were able to escape its hold."

Rufus didn't look at her. "That's correct."

"May I ask how?"

He took a deep breath before turning his eyes to her. "I was almost killed," he said simply.

Shelke took a step toward him. Though she was no more half his size, her vast knowledge made her seem nearly twice it. "By who?"

Rufus lifted his head defensively. "By the man who created it."

"I see," she said slowly, a sly smile breaking across her lips. "By trying to kill you with his own hand, the creator effectively released you from his spell…"

"I don't get it," Reno interrupted, obviously impatient in his lack of understanding.

"The puppets see Deimos as their creator," Shelke explained. "They retain nothing of their former lives except the instinct to survive. As such, they are incredibly impressionable and will obey any instruction their creator gives them. However, if Deimos were to give the order for one of his puppets to die—with or without words—they would be released from his command, because it conflicts with their most basic drive: the will to live."

"So you're saying he lived…because he died?" Reno asked, only half-serious. "Does that mean we can just threaten all the puppets with death and they'll snap out of it?"

Shelke shook her head vigorously. "I'm afraid not," she replied. "The command would have to come from Deimos himself."

"Damn," Reno muttered, sliding his hands into his pockets. "Worth a shot…"

"This is good news, though," Shelke continued, turning back to Rufus. "If you were released from the spell's hold naturally, your blood may still retain some of the mutation. I might be able to create a vaccine that mimics your resistance to the serum."

Rhea came to stand beside Rufus, her arm brushing softly against his. "How do you know for sure if he's resistant to it?

Shelke turned her eyes sharply on Rhea. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask that," she said. "I'm not certain that he is."

A silence fell over all of them, each aware in their own way what this meant. Rhea wanted to turn to Rufus, but she knew he wouldn't meet her gaze. He had made his decision.

"What do you need from me?" Rufus asked, though his voice lacked an inquisitive tone.

"A pint of blood should do."

Rufus removed his jacket, handing it to Reno before unbuttoning the sleeves of his dress shirt. Rhea lifted her hand to his shoulder, but he did not yield.

"Are you sure that's such a good idea?" she whispered to him. "Your body hasn't had a chance to recover from the blood you've already lost."

He didn't reply.

In the exam room, the puppet was heavily sedated before being lifted out of the chair and carted back to the prison.

Shelke opened the door to the exam room and led the way down to the chair at the center. Once there, Rufus climbed into it and placed his arm on the edge, face up. Shelke moved toward a terminal on the other side of the room, retrieving a syringe and blood bag from it. As she came back around the chair, Rhea stepped forward, staring into the girl's cerulean eyes. After a brief pause, Shelke nodded.

Rhea immediately stepped in beside Rufus, grasping his outstretched hand.

"I'm going to sedate you once I'm done," Shelke explained. "From the looks of it, your body is already nearing a forty percent blood deficit. Any more could be a danger to your health." She grasped Rufus's arm with a cold hand, pressing her thumb into the flesh of his inner arm in search of a vein. "We'll keep you overnight and supplement your fluids with an IV drip. We should be making headway with the vaccine by the time you wake up."

Shelke then covered his arm in an iodine solution before pressing the needle down into his skin.

"Are you ready?" She asked.

Rufus nodded.

Rhea watched his sinuous flesh strain in response to the prick of it, fighting back. It eventually lost the battle, and the silver barb disappeared beneath his skin. She squeezed his hand in an iron grip.


	18. Memories

**AN: **Holy CRAP! I am so sorry for the delayed update. I'd make the usual excuses (job interviews, huge increase in hours at my other job, apartment hunting), but it really came down to the fact that this was a tough chapter to write. I really want to move the story along, but I also don't want to rush it. So, consider this another filler chapter, but expect a little more character development than the last one. My main goal for this fic is to create real, tangible relationships, and this is just one crack at it. I hope you like it, and again SO sorry for the delay. Thanks for reading, and, as always, leave a follow, favorite, and review, review, review!

* * *

Rhea didn't sleep.

Though the research team was kind enough to lend her a room in their recovery sector, she spent almost the entire night beside Rufus in his room, watching over him as if to make sure each of his breaths were real. She knew that he was in good hands with Shelke and the W.R.O. research team, but it somehow wasn't enough. No amount of machinery, medicine, or monitoring could assure her of his health—not when she could press her hand against his forehead and feel his warmth and life beneath her own fingers. It was foolish, but she felt as though if she turned her back for too long, she might return to find him cold and blue—too far gone for even a Life spell to bring him back.

It was closing on the fifth hour since Shelke had put Rufus under, and there was still no word on an antidote or vaccine. Rhea was beginning to feel faint herself, but she had no will to sleep or eat or even rest her eyes. Her mind was far too wrapped up in anxiety to feel truly tired or hungry, even though her body was growing weak. The time was wearing on her. She knew that every moment that passed by was another in which Deimos still drew breath. She was torn between the hunger to end his tyranny and the concern she felt for Rufus.

In a way, she regretted not leaving him when she had the chance. She had even tried to, that gray morning in Mideel. She had found herself standing on the docks ready to board a ship bound for Junon, but something kept pulling her back. It was as if she'd left some part of her with him the day he'd nearly died, and she would be forever bound to it, like the Lifestream to the Planet. She only wondered if he felt it too.

A ray of light washed over the room as the door suddenly flew open. Rhea stood abruptly, laying her eyes on the visitor. Reno stepped into the dim light and offered her a small smile. He was holding a brown bag in his hand.

"Thought I'd find you here," he said as the door slid closed behind him.

Rhea sank back into the seat she'd pulled up beside the bed. Reno moved toward her, extending the bag he held.

"I brought you some food," he said. "It ain't no fine dining, but it's edible."

Rhea waved it away. "I'm not hungry."

Reno's smile disappeared. He dropped the bag on the ground next to her and pulled up his own chair. "That doesn't sound like my sister," he said. "The Rhea I used to know would devour every meal like it she hadn't eaten in days."

Rhea turned her eyes away and drew her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them as if embracing them. "That was a long time ago."

"That doesn't sound like my sister either," Reno replied. "What the heck happened to that happy little girl I used to torture all the time?"

Rhea turned back to him, resting her chin between her knees. She tried to fight back her words for a long time, but they eventually fell from her mouth like a glass spilling over. "Reno," she began, "you don't really know me. And...I don't really know you." He looked at her as if she'd just punched him in the gut. "We've spent more time apart than we have together."

"That doesn't mean we're not family," he said, the surprise apparent in his voice. "Flynnt blood runs thicker than that."

"You can stop pretending that you care about me. You don't owe me anything."

"Are you listening to yourself?" Reno hissed, leaning forward in his chair. "You sound like you've given up on me. Why is that?"

Rhea didn't reply. She let her eyes fall away again, resting on Rufus sleeping peacefully in the bed beside her.

"It really hurts me that you think I stopped looking," Reno continued. "I never stopped. Not once." He paused, but she would not look at him. "Mom and Dad would be ashamed."

"Mom and Dad were liars," Rhea shot back.

Reno leaned up and narrowed his eyes at her. "Don't you think for one second that they were bad people," he said. "They did the best they could."

"And their best got them killed."

"They died for what they believed in," Reno said sternly. "That's a hell of a lot more than most people get nowadays. People are murdered on the street for no reason. People die of sickness and disease. Mom and Dad made a choice—the right one—and it cost them their lives. But I promise you, if they could do it all again, they wouldn't change it."

The siblings stared at one another for a long time, the silence ringing with half a lifetime worth of unspoken words. Rhea wanted to believe him, to believe that her parents weren't villains, that their deaths couldn't have been avoided. She wanted to believe that she and Reno could rebuild the years they'd lost to death, lies, and misplaced anger. She wanted to remember what it was like to have a family. But in the past three months, the entire foundation of her life had been shaken, and she was suddenly left to pick up the pieces, constantly waiting in fear of an aftershock.

Reno sighed and placed his hands on his knees, standing slowly as if burdened by something. Rhea followed him with her eyes. There was an apology in them, somewhere deep below the glassy, glowing amber of her irises.

"Not everything in this world is black and white, sis," Reno said. "You of all people should know that."

He made for the exit, leaving only the hiss of the door sliding closed behind him. She watched the outline of his figure behind the frosted glass as it disappeared down the hall and out of sight.

Rhea nearly jumped out of the chair when she felt a warm hand suddenly come to rest on her knee. She gasped and spun her head around, meeting gazes with a pair of deep blue eyes. Rufus was awake, struggling to lean up, bracing himself against her. Rhea stood quickly and grasped his shoulders, pulling his body upward and leaning it against the wall behind him.

"How do you feel?" she asked, pulling up a pillow to rest behind his back.

"Fine," he replied, closing his eyes.

Rhea brushed her fingers against the IV needle in his arm, making sure it was seated right. She squeezed the bag of fluids that hung beside the bed. "Can I get you anything? Water? Food?"

He reached up and grasped her hand, steadying her. "You're not my nurse," he said sternly, though his face held an amused smile. "I'm fine. I promise."

Embarrassed, she stopped fidgeting and sat down on the bed beside him, clutching his hand in hers.

"The question is, are you alright?" he asked. She nodded, but he remained skeptical. "Are you sure?"

"Of course," she insisted. "Why, what's wrong?"

Rufus shifted, releasing her hand. The smile fell from his lips. "I need you find Shelke for me," he replied.

Rhea shook her head. "She said she'd come to us when she'd made progress on the antidote."

"That's what I need to speak to her about," Rufus continued. "Tell her to stop working on an antidote. Tell her to focus on making a vaccine—something to protect us from the serum in the future."

"But what about the soldiers?"

"We're wasting time focusing on them," he replied. "They're the enemy. There's no way to tell what they'll do when we release them from the spell."

Rhea's brow creased in confusion. "But they may be able to give us some information about the serum."

Rufus shook his head. "They're a security risk," he said. "The longer we keep them, the more likely it is they'll break free or turn violent. We'd be better off executing them before that happens."

"Is that what you would have done with me?"

Rufus looked hard at her, his blue eyes shining with disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

"Would you have killed me for being a puppet?" She watched as a look of confusion spread across his face. "Even without being tampered with, Mako is an extremely persuasive and dangerous tool. Hundreds of people were once addicted to the drug Hydra created. Luckily, I was able to get clean. But there was a time when I would have done anything—I mean_ anything_—just to get my hands on another vial."

"That's different."

"Is it?" Her words were sharp. "They made mistakes. Just like me. They put their trust in the wrong person. Do they deserve to die for that?" She paused, letting the question sink into his cold conscience. "We can't bring ourselves down to that level. If we do, aren't we just giving Deimos what he wants?"

She reached for his hand, but he pulled it away. "I'm doing this for you," he said, voice harsher than it should have been. "I gave my blood so that you would be safe to go after him. This is what you wanted, isn't it?"

Rhea withdrew from him, frightened by his tone and the severe glare in his eyes. "I didn't ask for this—"

"Don't lie to me," Rufus hissed. "I see it in your eyes. You'll never be whole until you take him down."

A wave of panic suddenly washed over her. She felt as though she were being accused of something, but she wasn't sure what. "Of course I want to kill him," she replied, trying to hide the restlessness in her voice. "It's my fault he's alive at all."

"And you think you can do it? All by yourself?"

Rhea opened her mouth to reply, but no words formed on her trembling lips. For nearly twelve years, she had lived out each and every day in solitude, facing both triumphs and hardships completely and utterly alone. It had been almost instinct for her to want to bring down Deimos on her own. In her old life, it wouldn't have made any difference to her if she died in the process. But now…now, there were other lives strung to her fate as well.

"You're afraid for me," she whispered—not a question, but a definitive statement. Her eyes never left his, barely blinking, glassy in the artificial light.

Rufus did not speak, but he didn't have to. His face was an open book.

Slowly, Rhea lifted both her hands and placed them on the sharp arcs of his cheekbones. She leaned forward and kissed him lightly, but for a long time. When she pulled away, her lips held a soft, dignified smile.

"I'll tell Shelke," she said, standing. Her hands fell away, brushing his shoulder with her fingertips as she turned.

Rufus watched her leave, and the dull ache in his chest returned.

* * *

Rhea emerged into the research facility with cautious steps, peering around at the bustling room. The researchers seemed not to notice her presence, each one wrapped up in whatever project they were working on. Shelke was not among them. Rhea did not want to disturb any of the workers, so she weaved her way through them and entered the surgical bay where Rufus's blood had been drawn several hours earlier.

On the other side of the room, a group of researchers were crowded around a table, on which a steel cage sat. Inside, a group of white mice scurried aimlessly. Rhea watched them with great interest.

"You look anxious."

Rhea jumped and spun around, her eyes falling on the petite, orange-haired girl behind her. Shelke had her hands in the pockets of her lab coat, peering up at Rhea with her bright, cerulean eyes.

"You shouldn't be anxious. It's a waste of energy."

Rhea laughed nervously. "I'm fine," she said. "I'm just here to get an update. For Rufus."

Shelke's expression remained stoic. "I told him I would come to him with news," she mused. "Is he awake?"

Rhea nodded.

"And how is he doing?"

Rhea shifted uneasily. "He's…a little out of it," she lied. She had fully intended to relay Rufus's message about the antidote, but she didn't have it in her to condemn all of those soldiers so carelessly.

"That's to be expected," Shelke agreed. "Tell him to rest more if he needs to. There's no hurry."

"What should I tell him about the antidote?"

Shelke jerked her head toward the operating table at the back of the room. "We've developed a prototype we think might have some promise," she explained. "However, we had to augment it heavily with a manipulated chemical compound. We're testing it on mice first to make sure it's safe for human use."

"Will this cancel the effects of Deimos's serum?" Rhea asked slowly. "Or will it protect against it?"

"Potentially both," Shelke replied. "There's no way to know for sure without the serum itself. We managed to pull its molecular structure from Rufus's blood, but replicating it has been a difficult task. There seems to be a piece missing from the puzzle."

Rhea considered her words for a moment, surprised by how unsure she sounded. Shelke's voice always had an air of supreme intelligence, but this problem seemed to truly be troubling her. "Deimos always had an obsession with Manipulate spells," Rhea said. "Maybe that might be a good place to start."

Shelke snapped her eyes to Rhea, peering up at her curiously. "Yes… Materia. The Planet's purest form of magic." She gave Rhea a quiet, contrived smile. "Thank you."

Rhea nodded, though she was unsure of what she'd really done.

"Tell Rufus and the others I will have a human antidote prepared within the hour," Shelke announced. "I'd like the president to attend the test if he is feeling well enough."

Rhea gave a shallow bow. "I'll tell them." She moved to leave, swiftly brushing past the girl. She stopped, however, when Shelke spoke again.

"Rhea," she said, turning to face her. "Is there something troubling you?"

Rhea didn't reply at first, considering the question. "No," she replied. "Nothing."

Shelke took a few steps toward her. "I sense a great disquiet in your mind." Rhea peered down at the brainy researcher, lost in the mesmerizing pools of her Mako-infused eyes. "You have many fragmented memories, don't you?"

Rhea didn't reply. She remembered just then that Shelke had once been part of Deepground, and suddenly felt very vulnerable in her presence. She was unsure of what power Shelke possessed that could reveal something like that, but it was an unnerving thought.

"My memories are my own burden," she said, her voice no more than a whisper.

"I can help you recover them," Shelke explained, "if you want."

Rhea froze, her mind lost in thought. She knew that deep in her mind, years and years of memories were stirring and festering like a disease, and some part of her wished for them to settle into something recognizable. However, the other part of her was frightened, more frightened than she'd ever been, to stare into the portrait that those memories would paint.

"I don't care about the past," she replied at last. "Unless you can look into my future, I'm not interested."

Shelke smiled. "Some other time, perhaps."

Rhea turned toward the exit and took a deep breath. "Yes. Perhaps."


	19. Beaten

**AN: **Yay another update! Thanks for your patience. This chapter takes place yet again in the research facility, but I'm hoping it'll be the last one there for a while. Don't worry, this one's not nearly as boring as the last two ;) In this chapter, I've taken Rufus in a direction that some might consider a bit out of character, but I actually really like how it turned out. I've been focusing a lot on Rhea lately, and I felt Rufus really needed some attention. I don't want their relationship to be a cakewalk, so I'm going to follow this thread I've created and see how it goes. Let me know what you think about it! As always, leave a follow, fav, or review if you enjoyed!

* * *

Like a wounded soldier refusing to leave the battle field, Rufus limped proudly down the halls of the research facility. Rhea followed in his shadow as if summoned by him, unable to will herself into motion on her own. Her eyes were tired and dull, spirit weakened by a sleepless night and a hailstorm of bad memories.

She felt useless here. She had spent an entire night in anxiety and distress, haunted by the uncertainty that loomed in the near future. Meanwhile, Rufus had turned her away, obsessed with finding some way to protect her from that uncertainty. They seemed to be chasing one another in circles, their goals vastly different and yet somehow parallel. Rhea knew they would only ever reach harmony again when one of them gave in.

Rufus stopped beside the door to Shelke's facility, and Rhea almost bumped into his back. He swiped them in and entered, and the pair of them linked up with Reno and Reeve waiting inside. They were standing beside the window to the surgical bay.

Reeve turned to them upon their arrival, smiling. "Rufus," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine," Rufus replied curtly. "Where is Shelke?"

Reno jerked his head toward the window beside them. In the room beyond, Shelke and a team of researchers stood around an operating table dressed in scrubs and skullcaps. The mouse cage was again sitting on the table.

After a moment, Shelke turned around and laid her eyes on the group of them.

"Glad you could make it Mr. President," she said, her voice crackling through the intercom. "Please come in, all of you."

Reeve opened the door to the surgical bay and led the group down into it. Shelke met them and motioned with a gloved hand for Rufus to step forward. He approached the operating table cautiously and peered at the mouse that lay inside the cage. It appeared dead to him, its white fur and whiskers stone-still.

"Tell the mouse to stand," Shelke instructed.

Rufus, uneasy, obeyed: "Stand."

The white rodent immediately turned toward Rufus with glassy golden eyes and rose to its hind legs. The research team began to mumble with approval.

Rufus leaned up straight and turned his eyes on Shelke. "What is this?" he demanded.

The girl looked from Rufus to Rhea, and back to Rufus. "I've replicated the mind-control serum Deimos created," she explained. "It was actually quite ingenious—I fused Mako with an isolated compound extracted from Manipulate Materia—"

"Why?"

Shelke froze up and stared at the president. "We needed it to test our vaccine," she replied proudly. There was a brief pause. "It worked, if that's what you're wondering."

Rufus was not reassured. "Destroy it," he ordered. "And erase all plans for its creation."

The team began to whisper amongst themselves. "It's been coded to your DNA. Only you can control those under its influence—"

"I said destroy it."

Shelke stood up straight. "Very well," she replied. "Give us until midnight. The serum is still required to perform some of our tests."

The two stared at each other for a moment, each gaze sparking with the clash of power. Finally, Rufus nodded.

Shelke turned to one of her assistants. "Bring in the next subject," she instructed. The room bustled with movement, and her team removed the mouse from the table. After a few moments, a pair of assistants entered the bay from a set of doors on the other side of the room. They were escorting a black-suited soldier locked in chains, and Rhea recognized him as one of the lackeys that had accompanied them to the reactor the first time. His golden eyes followed her as was led was into the room.

"We are now commencing the first human test for antidote Version 5," Shelke explained. "It has been proven to function properly on rodent subjects without any negative effects. The results have so far been permanent."

The research team parted to make way for the lackey, his chains rattling as he walked with robotic steps toward the operating table. Rhea instinctively moved backward, unnerved by his golden, unflinching stare.

It happened in a split second. The lackey lifted his arms and brought them down hard in front of him, wrenching them free from the hands that held him. He then lunged forward, catching Rhea's throat in his grasp. He pushed her up against the wall behind, inhuman strength lifting her several feet off the ground as he clenched down on her windpipe. The entire room stood in a stunned silence before one of the researchers let out a blood-curdling scream.

Rhea pulled hard at the fingers around her throat, desperately lifting herself upward in an attempt to suck in air. Darkness closed around the edges of her eyes, but in a moment she felt herself falling, her back sliding against the cold steel wall until she hit the ground and crumpled like a ragdoll.

She looked up to see Rufus wrestling with the lackey, arm wrapped around his throat, pulling him away from where she lay on the ground. The puppet flailed wildly under his hold, reaching up in an attempt to grab his attacker's face. Rufus released his choke hold before seizing the lackey by the shoulder and throwing him headfirst into the steel plating of an operating table. The puppet collapsed to the ground, and Rufus moved to kneel over his limp body, grabbing him by the collar. He punched him clean across the face, bloodying his nose in the process. He pulled the lackey up and beat him again, sending his head into the floor with a _crack_. Again and again, he struck the puppet, his face wild with anger and recklessness, until finally Reno scooped him up and pulled him away.

The researchers stared in awe as Rufus stumbled back, pulling himself out of Reno's grasp and straightening his jacket. Pain surged into his fist, covered in both his and the lackey's blood. He shook it wildly and glared at the black-clad man that lay limp on the floor a few feet away.

Two researchers knelt beside the puppet, checking for a pulse and inspecting his wounds. Shelke moved over to stand beside them. "Sedate him," she ordered, "Take him back and clean him up."

Shelke then moved to where Rhea sat on the ground, her arms wrapped around herself, gaze locked on the bloodied lackey being dragged out of the surgical bay. Shelke kneeled down beside her. "Are you alright?" she asked, genuine concern in her voice. Rhea slowly turned her head to Shelke before nodding once. "Let me see." Shelke turned Rhea's chin upward and inspected her throat. There were small purple bruises forming where the puppet had clamped down on her windpipe. Shelke clicked her tongue before standing back, extending her hand to Rhea. She took it and stood slowly.

"It seems they still hold the directive to capture or kill you," Shelke explained, frustration apparent in her voice. "I'm sorry Rhea, but I'm afraid you'll have to step out for the duration of this test. You can watch from the gallery."

Rhea didn't reply—her gaze was transfixed on Rufus. He clutched his bloodied hand, clenching and unclenching his fist, fingers trembling. Reeve rushed over with a cloth and bag of ice for him, which he reluctantly accepted. He caught Rhea's gaze as he cleaned his wounds, eyes like blue fire. She had never seen such a side of him before—not since he had been possessed by Deimos.

Reno, sensing Rhea's shock, approached his sister slowly and took her by the hand. "Come on, sis," he said, leading her gently toward the exit. She staggered up to the door, her head turning back over her shoulder to give Rufus one last look before Reno escorted her into the next room.

Shelke turned to Rufus. "Should we expect anymore outbursts, Mr. President?" she asked.

Rufus glared at her, his hand still trembling under the cloth and ice pack. He shook his head quickly.

Shelke took a deep breath before turning back to her assistants. "Bring in another subject," she ordered, "and this time, make sure he's secure."

There was a short pause before the researchers, all still in a muted state of shock, hurried about to prepare the room for the experiment again. Reno reentered the bay, leaving Rhea standing behind the window in the gallery. Her eyes were wide, arms still wrapped around her own shoulders as if trying to warm herself. Rufus turned his attention to Reno as he approached.

"What was that all about, Boss?" Reno whispered, looking down at Rufus's injured hand. "You looked possessed for a minute there."

Rufus gave him a glum look. "No one else was doing anything," he replied.

"You didn't give us a chance to. You were on him in seconds," Reno said. "You really think I would have let her get hurt?"

Rufus didn't reply.

On the other side of the room, the doors opened again to reveal another black-clad lackey, this time escorted by an armed W.R.O. guard. Two researchers laid him out on the operating table and carefully secured his chains to the sides of it. Once he was situated, Shelke motioned for them all to approach. The group of researchers all took their stations around the operating table; Reno, Reeve, and Rufus stepped up to the open area around Shelke. One researcher wheeled a tray toward her, on top of which sat a row of syringes and antiseptic pads.

Like a seasoned expert, Shelke prepared the injection site. She rolled up the soldier's sleeve and cleaned the area just below his shoulder. She took up a syringe filled with a stagnant gray liquid and tapped the side of it. The lackey watched with a blank, golden stare as she lowered the tip down to his skin, his muscles clenched under her grasp. She depressed the needle into his arm, and he instinctively jerked away from it, but the chains held him back. His golden eyes grew frantic as the needle broke the skin. Shelke pushed the antidote into his bloodstream, and he began to buck under her grasp. Two researchers reached over to hold him down as he writhed like a beached fish, his muscles convulsing as the moments wore on. Rufus turned his head away.

The chains finally stopped moving, and the lackey's eyes slowly fell closed. The surgical bay was swallowed by a deep silence, and Shelke slowly removed the needle, placing it down on the tray beside her. The team waited with baited breath, hoping for their first success among countless failures.

Several minutes passed by without a single movement from the soldier lying on the operating table. It seemed none of the researchers had the will to check his pulse, worried that their work might have killed an innocent man. Finally, Shelke reached forward and placed her hand on the injection site, only to reel back as the soldier sat bolt-upright and inhaled a huge breath.

The entire team fell back a few paces, and the W.R.O. guard snapped his gun to attention. Only Shelke remained close enough to the soldier to touch him, and thus she noticed it first: his eyes no longer held the eerie, golden glow. Brown eyes scanned the group of faces that surrounded him, lungs heaving with the first voluntary breaths in days.

Slowly, Shelke approached, laying her hand on the soldier's chest and pushing him back down to the operating table.

"W-where am I?" he whispered, looking around frantically. "Who are you?"

"You're at the W.R.O. headquarters in Edge," Shelke explained. "My name is Shelke Rui. Can you tell us your name?"

"W.R.O.?" the lackey asked. "What happened?"

"That's what we're trying to figure out," Shelke replied. "Do you remember your name?"

The lackey stared at Shelke for a long time, his breaths slowly regulating. "Warrick," he replied. "My name is Warrick."

"Thank you, Warrick," Shelke continued. "Do you know why you're here?"

Warrick looked around at the sea of faces staring at him. He stopped when his gaze turned to Rufus, and his eyes filled with recognition. He shook his head.

Suddenly, Rufus brushed past Shelke and grabbed him by the collar, lifting his chest off the operating table. "Don't lie," he hissed, staring into the man's quivering brown eyes. "You know exactly why you're here." Warrick flinched away, and the researchers whispered amongst themselves. Reno again swept in and pulled Rufus away.

Shelke turned to him and gave him a look of daggers. "Please control yourself, Mr. President, or I'll have you removed as well," she whispered. "Leave the interrogation tactics to me."

Rufus pulled his arm out of Reno's grasp and ran a hand through his hair, replacing the cloth and ice pack to his bleeding knuckles.

Shelke turned her attention to the quivering lackey behind her. "Now Warrick," she said softly. "You don't have to lie. We know you are a member of the Hydra gang. We have several of your comrades in custody as well." She placed a hand on his shoulder. "However, we also know that the attack on Edge was not of your doing. You were under a powerful Manipulate spell created by your leader." Warrick gazed up at her with a pitiful look in his eyes. "While the W.R.O. does not condone the goals and actions of the Hydra gang, we are not here to punish you for any of your past crimes. We are, however, seeking to put an end to Hydra's reign. Do you understand?"

Slowly, the lackey nodded, his eyes flicking over to Rufus briefly.

"Are you willing to cooperate?"

Again, Warrick nodded.

"Good," Shelke said. "Now, what can you tell us about Hydra's leader, Deimos?"

Warrick did not respond at first, too overwhelmed by the multitude of eyes suddenly drawn to him. Shelke moved closer, blocking them out.

"Start from the beginning," she instructed.

Warrick took a deep breath. "I met Deimos a few months after the fall of Meteor," he explained. "My entire family had died either from the collapse of the plates or Geostigma. Deimos was making a name for himself in the slums by holding secret meetings touting anti-Shinra messages. He gathered a lot of followers who were left homeless even after Edge's construction. He housed us all in an abandoned apartment complex on the north side of the slums."

"The headquarters," Reno mused.

Warrick nodded. "He put some of us to work manufacturing weapons infused with Mako energy. Others were put on guard duty or charged with recruiting more people to the ranks."

"And what was your job?" Shelke asked.

Warrick looked suddenly nervous again. "Before Meteorfall, I was a Shinra tech," he explained. "Just a low-level maintenance worker, but it was my job to keep up Reactor 3. I helped Deimos extract Mako from the transfer pipes in the city."

Rufus took a step forward. "Did he ever tell you about his plans to create a Manipulate spell?"

Warrick shook his head vigorously. "No! Never," he exclaimed. "He told us we were going to train an army and take down the W.R.O. with the weapons we created. I thought it strange when he suddenly wanted even more Mako—we'd already gathered more than enough to make a sufficient supply of weapons and armor." He paused and turned his head toward the ceiling, looking ashamed. "I overheard him talking to Cora one day about possibly moving outside of the city to take over more of the reactors. He sounded insane, mentioning something about 'the Planet's will'. That was shortly after they brought _her_ to the headquarters." He turned his head toward the gallery, where Rhea stood still as a statue behind the glass. She looked up when the group of them turned their eyes to her.

"I see," Shelke said. "What happened the day of the siege?"

"Deimos rounded us up, all of us, and told us we were going to start training for the attack on the W.R.O. headquarters. Cora came around and gave us all a syringe, telling us it was infused with a strengthened Hyper mixture. Deimos instructed us all to inject it at the same time…and, like obedient sheep, we did."

"That doesn't make sense," Rufus interjected. "Why would Deimos use his serum on people who were already willing to fight for him?"

"He lied to us," Warrick replied. "Told us his Mako projectiles were only meant to stun, not kill." Rufus gave him a skeptical stare. "We're civilians," Warrick urged. "Office workers, teachers, mothers and fathers. We never would have gone through with something like that if we had known we were going to kill innocent people. We just wanted our voices to be heard. We thought Deimos would be that voice for us. "

Shelke crossed in front of Rufus, bringing Warrick's attention back to her. "We believe you," she assured him. "But your remorse does not change the fact that Deimos remains free. We need you and your comrades to help us track him down. If we have your full cooperation, we may be able to offer you some sort of pardon for your crimes."

"I wish I could be of more assistance," Warrick began, "but that's all I know about Deimos's plans. Most of the others will probably be of little help to you either. He deceived all of us."

"Is there anyone that might know more? Someone close to Deimos or Cora?"

Warrick thought for a moment. "Deimos had two personal bodyguards," he replied. "One of them was killed not long before the siege, but the other was still alive when we were injected. Prax was his name."

Reno turned to Rufus. "That's the one you bloodied up," he whispered.

Shelke overheard the remark and sighed. "Thank you for your help, Warrick. We'll take you to the recovery wing for now, but I'm afraid you'll have to remain confined to those quarters for the duration of the investigation."

Warrick nodded. "I understand." With that, two of the researchers moved in to unstrap him from the table, carefully escorting him out of the surgical bay. He stopped and looked up at Rhea briefly, who turned away, ashamed.

Shelke turned to one of her assistants. "Start administering the antidote to all the captives," she instructed. "Get them whatever they need, and tend to their injuries." She then turned around to where Reeve stood. "Commissioner, you may bring up your interrogation squad whenever you'd like. Please see to it that they don't harm the prisoners."

Reeve nodded in agreement. "Thank you, Shelke," he said softly. "Your hard work has most certainly paid off. We are indebted to you and your team."

After a moment, Shelke broke a much-needed smile, and the tension fell from her shoulders. She gave a small, gracious bow. "Please let me know if I can be of anymore assistance."

"We will." Reeve returned the bow before moving toward the exit. Reno and Rufus followed.

Just as they were reentering the gallery, a phone began to blare loudly. Reno jumped and turned to answer the call. He spoke in muted tones, but even from the soft volume, Rufus could tell it was not good news. With a sigh, he left the pair and continued up the stairs to meet Rhea waiting in the gallery. She tensed up as he entered.

"How are you?" Rufus asked as he approached, though his voice was somewhat distant.

Rhea looked down at his knuckles, which had stopped bleeding but were now growing a soft shade of violet. "I could ask you the same thing."

Their moment was interrupted by the sound of the door opening once again. Reno and Reeve entered, both looking glum.

"That was Rude," Reno explained. "He says there are reports of a man matching Deimos's description raiding the Healen Lodge."

Rufus stood up straight as an arrow and clenched his teeth. "Reeve, organize a press conference," he ordered sternly. "We need to get his face out to the media."

Reno and Reeve looked anxiously at one another before turning back to him.

"What?" Rufus asked.

Suddenly, Rhea came up beside him, touching his shoulder. "We probably should have told you sooner…" she said softly.

"Tell me what?" he demanded.

"After the siege ended, the press went mad," she explained. "With both you and Reeve gone from the city, they started publishing any lead they could get their hands on." She paused, looking away shamefully.

"And?"

Reno cleared his throat. "The entire city thinks you're dead, Boss," he said flatly.

Rufus looked stunned for a moment, as if someone had just cast a Stop spell on him.

"When we found out, our first thought was to issue a correction," Reeve explained. "But Rhea gave us the idea that we might be able to use it to our advantage."

"_How_?" Rufus exclaimed, his face contorted with disbelief.

Rhea touched his shoulder again, but he spun on her, causing her to release him quickly. She looked hurt. "If word had gotten out that you'd been brought to Mideel, where do you think Deimos would have turned up?"

"So you thought a better idea was to tell everyone I died?"

Rhea shook her head. "We had nothing to do with that," she proclaimed. "The media came up with that on their own."

"I issued a press release last night saying that your death was never confirmed," Reeve added. "It seems Deimos has now taken the bait."

Rufus froze. "He's searching Healen…for _me…_"

The room fell silent. No one dare confirm his suspicions, knowing the repercussions would be great enough on their own.

Slowly, Rufus turned to Rhea, his eyes cold as the day she'd met him. When she lost the will to meet his gaze, he turned to Reeve and Reno. "Set up the press conference," he said. He sounded like the politician he'd been born to be.

Reno tilted his head to the side. "Are you sure that's such a good idea, Boss?" he asked. "Deimos might come back to finish the job."

"Let him come," he said, turning away from them and heading for the exit. "It's time I stopped hiding in the shadows."


	20. Ready

**AN: **AAHH! I know you guys don't really wanna hear my piss-poor excuses about why these updates are so slow, but you really NEED to hear this one. I wouldn't have believed it if it hadn't actually happened to me. I came down with the WORST case of tonsillitis I've ever had (or can remember) literally the NIGHT before my first day at my new job! It was like something out of a movie, I swear. I slept for fourteen hours one night! Haha. Anyway, I'm feeling better now, so here's an update at last. Not much to say other than I hope you all enjoy! Please leave a follow, fav, or review if you did.

**Author Edit: **I know there's been another lull in the updates, and I'll spare you anymore excuses (I promise, they're legitimate-again!), but as I've been trying to get out Chapter 21, there were some things about this chapter I thought needed some tweaking. Nothing huge, just a small change in the last scene. I feel like it gives the chapter a bit more punch and sets the stakes for the following chapters. Hope you like it, and I promise, a new update is coming soon!

* * *

"Good evening citizens of Edge, and all those listening from around the world. It is with a heavy heart that I speak to you tonight, in the wake of a great act of evil committed upon the peaceful city of Edge. It came without warning. There was no declaration of war. The targets were innocent civilians, and the purpose is still unknown. However, the perpetrator of these crimes will not be allowed to slink away into the shadows. Thanks to the bravery and skill of the W.R.O. armed forces, his plans were foiled. But like a coward, he has evaded capture and is now roaming our peaceful planet, seeking to rebuild the tyrannical organization that brought peril to our city that calm summer morning.

The face of this organization is a man named Deimos Gekido. He is, first and foremost, a terrorist, possessing powerful methods of persuasion and a penchant for deception. He is presumed armed and dangerous. Citizens are urged to contact their local W.R.O. representative if sighted. Police presence will be increased in all major cities across the three continents. With your help, we will purge this planet of those who wish to do it harm.

It has come to my attention that certain falsified information has been published about the state of my health. Please allow me to set the record straight. During the attack on Edge, I was indeed taken hostage by the enemy. In his custody, I was shown no mercy. I was interrogated, tortured, and, yes—fatally wounded. I attribute my survival not to my own will, but to the will of the World Restoration Organization. It is thanks to their spirit and persistence that I live to see another day. I promise you, citizens of this great planet, that I will not squander that gift. I will fight to protect your freedom as I always have: until my very last breath."

* * *

Usually, Rufus felt his most comfortable sitting at the head of the boardroom table. It was where he had lived most of his adult life, doing everything from conducting the most mundane of political actions to making stressful decisions about battle tactics. It was where he had faced death the first time when Diamond Weapon had unleashed its wrath on Midgar nearly six years ago. It was a place where he'd always felt in control—but somewhere between the harrowing siege and his brush with death, the room had lost some of its luster.

In a literal sense, the entire W.R.O. headquarters had been sullied by the attack. The damage was concentrated on the lower floors, where the Mako weaponry had burned holes the size of cannonballs into the walls and staircases. However, a small platoon of soldiers had managed to make their way to the 70th floor in an attempt to assassinate Reeve. The Turks succeeded in subduing them, but not before they had done their damage: both presidents' offices had been raided, and the boardroom windows had been blown out by a grenade. The table had since been scrubbed and the chairs cleaned of rubble, but it somehow wasn't the same as Rufus had remembered it. It was distracting to feel the wind on his face—a constant reminder of his failure to protect the city he'd worked years to raise up.

"Rufus?"

He snapped his head to Reeve, who sat across from him on the other side of the table.

"Are you listening?"

The ten other advisors fell silent, staring blankly at him. Rufus nodded slowly, but Reeve gave him a skeptical look.

"I was just telling the advisors how your speech went over well with the public," he said. "Approval numbers are up, but we've been getting a lot of false leads from citizens who believe they've spotted Deimos."

Again, Rufus nodded absentmindedly. "Increase personnel in the call center," he said. "Dispatch one infantryman for each call, but nothing more. It is likely Deimos will be going into hiding soon. We need to follow all leads as if they are true, no matter how tedious it may be."

Reeve nodded in agreement. "Approval from Financial Division to increase staffing in the call center?"

"Aye," the advisor replied.

The changes were quickly recorded, and the advisors returned their attention to Rufus. Again, his eyes were drawn to the window, mesmerized by the whistling wind and the gray clouds floating by.

"I believe that will conclude today's meeting," Reeve announced, closing the folder before him. "We will meet again tomorrow to discuss restoration efforts."

The room suddenly filled with the scraping of chairs and the rustling of paper. Rufus remained seated as the advisors filed out, giving each one a polite smile and nod of his head as they passed. He placed his elbow on the surface of the boardroom table and rested his chin in his injured hand, now wrapped in white bandages. He was only vaguely aware that Reeve had stayed behind, who came around the table to stand beside him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you sure you're alright?" he asked, voice low and concerned.

Rufus sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I'm fine," he replied. "But we're going to have to dip into the relocation assistance funds to finance restoration efforts."

Reeve nodded understandingly. "Yes. It's a bit of a letdown, I know. But we'll make it back."

"We shouldn't have to..." Rufus suddenly stood, kicking a piece of rubble that lay near his feet. He was silent for a moment, gazing around the half-destroyed room. It had been only six years since he'd seen destruction like this, and it bothered him deeply. "What are we doing wrong, my friend?" he asked. Reeve looked pensively at him. "How many disasters must we endure before we get it right?"

"We're not doing anything wrong," Reeve replied, but Rufus was not assured. "The effects of this attack are small compared to the calamities we've faced in the past. Edge will recover, just as it always has."

"Perhaps," Rufus mused, twirling his pen in his hand.

Reeve gave him a worried look. "Is there anything else you need from me?"

Rufus turned to his friend and stared hard at him. He pleaded his request with his eyes, but Reeve was not a man to yield without words. "Just give me five minutes with him," Rufus hissed at last. "I promise I won't touch him. I won't need to."

Reeve heaved a deep sigh and turned his eyes toward the window briefly. Rufus knew Reeve would respect him for asking permission, but respect might not be enough.

Finally, the commissioner nodded his head. "Five minutes," he urged. "And not a minute more."

"Thank you, Reeve." Rufus placed a grateful hand on his friend's shoulder, but he grimaced and turned toward the door.

"Shelke is going to have my head for this..."

* * *

It was familiar—the dull ache in the crook of her arm, the feel of something foreign coursing through her bloodstream with every nervous heartbeat. It should have comforted her, but a sharp fear crawled into the back of her mind if ever she looked down and saw the place where the needle had pierced her skin. It was as if she were looking into the past, when her arm had been nothing but a pin cushion for a need as primal as breathing.

Rhea closed her eyes and laid her hand over the new scar nestled between ancient ones. She traced a vein with one finger, feeling the warm blood pulsing beneath her touch, carrying the vaccine to every inch of her body. She had to remind herself that this was a blessing and not a curse—a panacea to defend her against a fate worse than death.

With a deep sigh, she opened her eyes again. She was greeted by the dull gray void that had been, for a few brief months, her home. It felt as empty as the first time she'd stepped into it—stripped of what belongings she had left and crammed into the backpack that now lay slung over her shoulder. She was doubtful she would ever return here, and she was suddenly glad she hadn't had the chance to make it her own. In a way, it had never really belonged to her at all. It was merely a temporary souvenir from a generous man who had tried valiantly, but ultimately failed, to pull her away from the demons of her past. This place, she thought, would be a debt she could finally repay to him.

Rhea passed from the bedroom to the living room and from there into the kitchen. Her music box lay on the counter, mere inches from the spot she and Rufus had first kissed, her arm clasped tightly in his hand. She remembered how the moment had sparked a fire in her—a fire she first thought to be furious and defiant, but which over time grew into flames of passion, threatening to burn her spirit to ash without the kindling of his touch. She could feel it dying now, and she feared even he would no longer be able to fuel the embers.

Rhea reached out and opened the top of the music box, listening to the tune humming weakly out from beneath the weathered wood. On top of the tiny pile of pictures and jewelry and mementos lay her mother's Shinra badge. She picked it up and ran her finger across its surface, remembering all its intricacies—the scratches across the lettering of her name, the faded bloodstain on the top left corner. When she'd discovered her mother's ill-fated secret, Rhea had considered throwing the badge away. It had become a symbol not of the brave woman who'd given her life to protect her children, but rather of a twisted lie that had ended their innocence prematurely. It was an effigy of Deimos's insatiable cruelty and oppression. Now, it seemed too heavy to take with her.

The door creaked open. Like a reflex, Rhea dropped the badge back into the music box and slammed the cover shut. When she spun around, she saw the familiar eyes of her brother peering at her from the doorway. He flashed a smile.

"Going somewhere?" he asked, noticing the backpack hanging from her shoulder.

Rhea looked hard at him for a moment before turning back around. She latched the music box and slipped it carefully into the front pocket of her backpack.

"Thought you could just sneak out without any of us noticing?"

When she turned back around, Reno was looming over her, hands in his pockets.

"What does it matter if you notice or not?" she asked, brushing by him toward the door.

"I'm going with you."

She stopped for a moment before letting out a small, sarcastic laugh. "Tell Rufus I don't need a babysitter—"

"Rufus didn't ask me to come."

She turned halfway toward him, her warm skin like a ray of light against the gray walls. "You shouldn't," she said. "You'd draw too much attention—"

"Oh, just shut it, will you sis?"

Rhea turned around fully now, eyes wide, surprised by his sharp tone.

"When are you going to accept that you don't know a damn thing?" he spat. "You claw and struggle your way through life, but when someone wants to offer you help, you just turn your back like some kind of martyr. I'm done with it. I'm through watching you suffer and hurt for no reason."

Rhea stood stunned for a moment, watching as her brother's façade melted away before her eyes. No longer did he look like the cruel, cynical Turk he'd grown into. For a brief moment, she thought she saw the eyes of the boy who'd faced death, much too young, with fists raised; she thought she caught a glimpse of the smile that had once comforted her in her darkest times. In the blink of an eye, they were gone, replaced with faded scars cut across high cheeks, hair as red as the blood that had stained his hands for years.

Suddenly, Reno pushed his sleeve up past his elbow, exposing a strip of gauze and tape secured around his inner arm. A small dot of red had bled through it.

"I'm ready," he said. "I need to take him down just as much as you do."

Rhea let her gaze trace over his arm and up to his own eyes. She saw them spark like blue obsidian, wild and terrible in the half-light, and wondered.

Perhaps he might be the one to ignite the fire in her soul once more.

* * *

The light split the 6x6 foot cell in two, shining a blinding ray on the crumpled body that lay on the bed inside. The lackey stirred and sat up, turning his squinted, swollen eyes to the shadow that filled the doorway.

When Prax saw who had entered his solitary cell, his body shook with silent laughter, bruised face contorting maniacally.

The door slammed behind Rufus, bringing darkness back over them. Even in the absence of the light, he seemed to glow like some sort of apparition, white-cloaked and golden-haired. Prax stopped laughing when Rufus raised his hand, bare and bruised, but still as stone. He pulled a roll of gauze between his thumb and forefinger, wrapping it around his knuckles in slow, deliberate circles. The lackey laughed again.

"I didn't believe them when they told me you did this," Prax uttered between laughs, pointing to his disfigured face. "Looks like I was wrong about the mighty _Rufus Shinra_."

Rufus ignored him and continued wrapping. He stopped after about five rotations and reached in his pocket, pulling out a large 100 Gil coin. Its pristine surface caught the sliver of light that shone in around the door frame, glinting in his sea blue eyes. "Do you know why I did it?" he asked, turning the coin over in his hand.

Prax scoffed. "Because of that bitch," he spat. "Rhea."

"Close," Rufus replied. He placed the coin on the flat of his knuckles, his father's visage sitting face-up. He then wrapped the remaining gauze around it, securing it in place. He worked his hand in and out of a fist, making sure the coin stayed seated. "It's because I knew you would have done the same thing even if you had been in your right mind."

"You're damn right I would have," Prax shot back, leaning up straight. His chains rattled noisily. "That disloyal whore deserves to die."

Rufus suddenly swept in and grabbed the lackey by the collar, pressing his fist into his chin. "And you'd know all about loyalty, wouldn't you?"

Prax cowered away, caught off guard by the swift movement.

Rufus was still for several moments, his eyes boring into the lackey's skull. Prax would not meet his gaze. "The way I see it," he continued, "you have two options. You can either tell me where he's going, along with all of his other dirty little secrets..." He dug the edge of the coin into one of the many bruises on Prax's jaw. "Or you can remain loyal to a dead man, and I'll give you a few more bruises to think it over."

Prax's bloodied face contorted into a livid scowl, black eyes shining like squirming beetles in the dim light.

"Where is he going?" Rufus demanded.

The lackey's body again shook with laughter. "You'll never catch him," he muttered, pulling his arms against the chains. "He's fast. And unpredictable."

Rufus smirked. "I'm faster. I'm even more unpredictable." He pulled the lackey up until their eyes were level. "But you know that already." He felt Prax struggle beneath him, and his smile fell away. Silence swallowed the room, deeper than the dark that surrounded them.

"_Where is he going?!"_

When Prax remained silent, Rufus coiled his arm back, fist clenched tighter than a drum. Rufus flexed with intent, but stopped when Prax cried out.

"West!" he shouted, wincing. "Across the sea."

Rufus lowered his arm, considering the response. "…Why?"

The lackey opened his mouth, but no words came out. He looked frozen, as if he'd just seen a ghost.

Rufus shook him roughly. "What's there?"

Prax's thin lips spread into a wide, evil grin. "The Promised Land," he whispered.

Rufus wasn't sure he'd heard him right. He shook his head as if pushing out unwanted thoughts. It had been years since he'd heard that phrase, the one he thought he'd never hear again. "The Promised Land doesn't exist," he declared.

"Maybe not _your_ promised land," Prax said. "But his is as real as the air you're breathing right now."

Rufus's lips twitched into a grimace of disgust. He knew the dark, twisted tone of those words—he knew the madness they stood for.

Again, the lackey let slip a laugh. Rufus snapped. He brought his arm down faster than a streak of lightning. Prax cried out and coiled away, chains rattling as he tried and failed to lift his arms in defense. He exhaled a quivering breath when no impact followed. When he opened his black eyes, he caught a flash of gold glinting in the dim light.

Rufus held the coin, clasped between his fingers, inches from the lackey's face. Prax stared blankly at it.

"Here," Rufus said, dropping him with a considerable flourish. He flicked the coin at Prax's chest. "Use this to buy back your soul, if you can find it."

Rufus spun and made for the exit, knocking on the heavy iron door. A moment later, light washed into the room again and blinded the lackey, like looking into heaven.

* * *

The water from the shower burned his skin, clawing a white-hot torrent over his head and down his back. It was a good pain, the kind that forced him to remember how to function. A knot twisted in his chest, dragging deep, full breaths full of hot steam. He turned his face up to the water and ran a hand through his hair. The spray singed the bruises on his knuckles, but he pushed through the pain, just long enough for his body to come alive.

Rufus turned off the flow of water and threw open the shower door, shivering at the sudden wash of cool air that flowed over his body. The steam was sucked out into the rest of the room, crawling across the floor like a morning fog. He stepped onto the cold tiles and ran a towel along his body before swiping it across the mirror to reveal his visage under the condensation. His chest and back were streaked with red from the heat of the water. After running the towel over his hair, he tucked it around his waist and turned on the tap, splashing his face with the coldest water he could stand.

The hair on his arms rose ever so slightly when he heard the distinct creak of the door in the room beyond. The lock on his office door hadn't been fixed yet, but the Turks had since been assigned to guard it. There were very few people that could successfully get by a pair of Turks on high alert, and he suddenly regretted leaving his pistol in the top drawer of his bedside table.

He froze and listened, but heard only one pair of soft footsteps on the carpet. He edged toward the door, which lay open just a crack, and nudged it with his hand. His heightened senses relaxed when a svelte figure spun gracefully, if alarmingly, toward him. Her red hair whipped over her shoulder, and for some reason, he adored the look of surprise that filled her eyes upon seeing him. He stepped out of the bathroom and brushed a hand through his hair, pushing the wet strands away from his face.

"I should have known Tseng would let you in here," he said, leaning against the doorframe.

He was somehow disappointed when the surprise fell from her face. She stepped into the light, and it crawled up her body like a flame through tinder. She stopped mere inches from him, her eyes falling to where his hand lay at his side. He instinctively flinched back when she reached for it, but he conceded to her gentle touch, feeling the way the palm of his hand fit so closely into hers. With her thumb, she delicately brushed the angry blue bruises on his knuckles, each one ringed with red.

"Why did you do it?" she asked, her gaze averted.

Rufus flexed his hand around her own, ignoring the spur of pain that followed. "Someone had to protect you."

Her amber eyes flicked up to meet his at last, and a look of relief washed over her, as if she had expected a response much more sinister. It hurt him, the way she looked at him like some sort of monster, ready to lash out at a moment's notice. But, as he thought of this, he remembered how he'd once thought of her as nothing more than a wounded animal, beaten down by a life not meant for her. He saw nothing of that frightened, helpless creature standing before him now. It was possible that she didn't need protection—that she never had. It was possible it was his fault she kept running away, too smothered by the walls he had so carefully constructed to keep her safe from harm. Now, it seemed even more likely that these were all just excuses to bring himself closer to her—to keep her fire burning.

"You shouldn't have done it," she said, dropping his hand. "You don't have to protect me."

She turned away, and something like anger sparked through his nerve endings. His hand flew out and grasped her arm, pulling her back around to face him. "Stop pushing me away," he ordered.

Rhea's face contorted with shock. She stared up at him, and for a moment, he saw a flash of the wounded creature behind the glassy lenses of her eyes. "Then stop trying to control me!"

Rufus hissed an incredulous laugh. He clamped down on her other arm and drew her so close their noses almost touched. "You think this is about _control_?" he hissed. "If I wanted to _control_ you, I could. I could have you wrapped around my finger in a _heartbeat_. Do you remember who I am?" He shook her lightly. "There are _hundreds_ of ways for me to exercise my power." He paused, squeezing her arms just tight enough to keep her in his clutch. "_This _is not one of them."

She stared up at him with a look of contempt ingrained in her sharp features. She twisted her arms in his grasp. "Are you sure about that?"

Rufus narrowed his eyes and released her. She turned away and folded her arms into herself, but she did not leave. He watched her body sway toward the door, but she resisted, fighting the same uncertainty that had driven her away from him the first time.

"Why did you come here?" he demanded.

Rhea spun on him, the edges of her eyes shining in the half light. "You know why."

He shook his head slowly. "I thought I told you not to say goodbye."

With the words still fresh in the air, his body fell into hers, kissing her with urgency, as if she might breathe life into him. His hands found the rivers of her hair, tangling his fingers into them without any intention of letting go. She melted beneath his touch. One of her hands found the gnarled scar on his chest, and he tensed as if hit with a spark of electricity. Wildly, he pushed her back toward the wall, extending a hand to cushion the impact. He then reached back up to take hold of her hair again, gently tugging on the strands. Her head turned up and exposed the soft flesh of her neck. He showered it with kisses, wet lips leaving a trail across the smooth skin.

Her hair suddenly slipped from his grasp, and she turned her glazed eyes down to him.

"Don't say it," he demanded, pressing his lips into the flat of her chest.

She lifted her hands and pushed against his shoulders, forcing his lips away from her body. Her lungs swelled with labored breaths, and he dug his fingers into her heaving ribs.

"Don't _say_ it," he pleaded. He suddenly crouched down and wrapped his arms around her middle, lifting her off the ground with ease. She whimpered pitifully and pounded her fist into his shoulder in half-sincere protest. He turned toward the bed, throwing her down onto it. Carefully, he spread his body over her own. He cast a shadow on her, but she somehow still seemed to glow from within, every inch of her on fire, clawing to get out. He wanted badly to let that blaze free, to let her burn her vengeance into the pages of history, but he wasn't quite ready yet.

Not yet.

"_Don't say it_."


	21. Persuasion

**AN: **FINALLY another update! I have lots more boring excuses for you guys, but I'll spare you this time and just let you get reading. **Special note though**, if you haven't already noticed, I posted an update to the previous chapter (Ready) that changed some stuff around in the last scene. Doesn't really have a ton of bearing on the story, but I like the outcome a lot better and I hope you'll take the time to read it!

As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter! Leave a like, favorite, or review if you did!

* * *

Rhea stepped out into the midmorning air with enough glow in her to rival the sun's sweltering rays. She still bore on her skin the red flares of love and passion. They were covered by her clothing, but she could feel them there, smoldering like hot coals. She couldn't imagine why she had ever resisted it—his gravitational pull, drawing her into him like a moth to a flame. For nearly two dissonant months, they had clashed and collided like fire and water, each one threatening to extinguish the other. There were times when harmony was almost within reach, but something—indecision, fear, delusion—had always driven them apart again. Finally, in the heat of a moment that had almost slipped through their fingers, they had managed to find some semblance of peace.

Rufus Shinra had, in a matter of hours, become a totally different man to her. She once felt like her instincts had been hard-wired to fear him and all his omnipotent power, both symbolic and literal. But now, his brusque touch and terse words, his ravenous need to protect her—just the thought of these things seemed to set all her nerves alight with renewed life. It had taken her much too long to realize that he was not using his immense power and influence to control her, but rather to help mold her—to make her independent, give her purpose—to tame the wildfire that her life had become.

In the morning, she'd left his tight clutch as she always had—silent and unwilling. This time, she'd thought he might have stirred, but he didn't reach for her or ask her to stay. There were no goodbyes. Now, as Rhea walked down the sun-warmed streets of Edge toward the bustling city center, she had to laugh at the cruel irony: They'd finally found blissful harmony after months of discord, and just hours later, they were again wrenched apart by duty and destiny. Still, Rhea resolved to keep their unceremonious parting as a reminder of what would be waiting for them when they would, inevitably, reunite.

When she came upon the wide town square at the heart of the city, Rhea stopped to take in the familiar sights. The area had seen many changes in its short history. She could still remember the simple memorial that had been erected by Shinra to commemorate the fall of Meteor, though it had been eradicated by a rogue summon not long after. The W.R.O. had since replaced the thing with a more dignified fountain. In the middle of the rippling water stood a statue of a beautiful woman with her long hair drawn up into a twist by a sweet, almost childlike ribbon. She was kneeling, praying, her head turned up to the sky ever so slightly, a small smile on her lips. Rhea had always wondered who this woman might be or what she stood for, but there was no dedication on the fountain. It was to Rhea, as to the rest of the city, a mystery.

She made her way to this fountain, dodging trucks and cyclists, delighting in the normality of it all. It was almost as if her life hadn't actually been turned upside down in the previous week—that Deimos may have never really existed at all. When she passed a group of kids playing near the fountain, her brother's slouchy figure came into view. He was standing with his back turned to her, looking up at the woman in the fountain, half-smiling, half lost in thought. Rhea came up behind him and placed her hand on his shoulder. He jumped and spun on her, his hands flying out of his pockets to steady himself.

"Damn!" he exclaimed, but he relaxed as he set his eyes on her. "Geez, sis, you nearly scared the skin off me."

Rhea huffed a small laugh. "That'd be a sight," she muttered, prompting an annoyed look from Reno. "Sorry."

Reno slipped his hands back in his pockets. "You're late," he remarked offhandedly. "Where've you been?"

"I was busy," Rhea replied.

"Right…" Reno said cynically. "_Busy_."

Rhea rolled her eyes. "Can we get down to business?" she asked, impatient. "Why are we here?"

"I need to see a man about a horse," Reno replied, "so to speak." He turned toward the opposite side of the square and motioned for her to follow. "Come on."

Rhea, skeptical, fell into step behind him, weaving in between crowds of people with each step. They took one of the main exit streets for a few blocks before turning down an alley and linking up with a side street just beyond. Rhea couldn't remember ever being to this area, but this was considered the "nice" side of town, and she wouldn't have had any business there anyway. She could only wonder where Reno was taking them, and although she was eager to get on the road to finding Deimos, many plans were yet to fall in place. They had no leads, no gear, and no mode of transportation. Rhea hoped Reno was leading them to at least one of those now.

He finally stopped under an archway at a cross street, on top of which sat a statue of a praying angel. Rhea thought the woman at the fountain looked even more angelic than this one. Beside them stood a shop with a busy logo printed on the door that she couldn't quite read at first glance. After a closer look, she was able to make out the words: "7th Heaven Bar." Rhea snorted audibly after reading it. Only Reno would take her to a bar at 10 a.m.

He ignored her and knocked on the heavy iron door. After a few silent moments, it pulled back to reveal a tall, athletic, but beautiful brunette. She was wearing a cropped army-green shirt and jean shorts, over which she had tied a waitress's apron. She laid eyes on Reno and blinked disbelievingly before letting out an amused laugh.

"Sorry Reno, we can't serve booze until after 2," she said between giggles.

Reno looked annoyed. "Very funny, Tifa," he said. "We're not here to drink. Where's Chocobo-head?"

The woman, apparently named Tifa, stopped laughing and straightened up. "He's out making a delivery," she replied. "He should be back in an hour or so."

Reno let out an exasperated groan. "Do you mind if we stick around and wait for him?" he asked. "I've got some stuff I need to ask him."

Tifa stood aside and pulled the door open wider. "Sure," she said. "But I really can't serve any alcohol before 2. City rules."

"What do I look like, an alcoholic?" he muttered, to no one in particular. He then turned to Rhea and motioned absentmindedly to her. "Tifa, this is my sister, Rhea."

"Sister?" Tifa exclaimed. "My condolences." She extended her hand to Rhea. "Pleasure to meet you."

Rhea smiled and shook the woman's hand. She was beginning to like Tifa already.

After sarcastic pleasantries were exchanged, Reno led the way into the small, but homey bar. The floor was hardwood and looked new, matching the more weathered grain of the tabletops, each fitted with four wrought-iron chairs. The small window at the front let warm light stream in, illuminating a wall full of pictures. Rhea glanced at them as she passed—lovely landscapes, places she'd never seen before, and lots of pictures with two small children and a brooding man with blonde hair. She wasn't sure why, but the pictures gave her a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Reno sauntered up to the bar and took a seat while Tifa crossed around behind it, busying herself with this thing and that. Rhea came up and sat beside her brother.

"So, how's business?" Reno asked, tapping his hand impatiently on the bar counter.

"Really good," Tifa remarked, hanging wine glasses from the rack above the liquor. "So good, in fact, we're thinking about taking over the extra space next door. The kids really want to build a little arcade over there. They just love that motorcycle simulator from the Gold Saucer." She turned around and put her hands on her hips. "Cloud really spoils them."

"Speaking of the Chocobo-head himself," Reno said. "How's he doin'?"

Tifa didn't respond right away, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. "Fine," she said at last. "He was asking about you the other day." Reno looked surprised. "Well, not you particularly," Tifa continued. "Shinra in general. We saw Rufus's press conference."

Reno nodded slowly. "That's what we're here to talk to him about."

Tifa tensed up and bit her lip.

"Don't worry, we're not here to ask for help," Reno assured her.

She relaxed a bit. "Good," she said, grabbing a pencil and paper from the counter. "I'm afraid Denzel might lose it if Cloud goes off without him again." She turned around and busied herself with counting each of the bottles of liquor.

"He shouldn't be so protective of the kid," Reno muttered. "If he wants to get out there, you should let him."

Tifa stopped counting, but didn't turn to them. She heaved a deep sigh. "I don't really have a problem with it," she said. "But Cloud…"

"What about Cloud?"

A small voice came from the other side of the room, and all three of them spun to look at the source of it. At the bottom of the stairs stood a young boy, no older than fifteen. He had messy brown hair and bluish eyes. He was wearing a pair of loose cargo shorts and a navy vest with a white shirt beneath it. Rhea recognized him immediately as the boy in the photographs behind her.

"Hey, Denzel," Reno said, breaking the awkward silence that hung in the air. "How you doin'?"

The boy, Denzel, came out into the room, crossing his arms in true teenager style. "I'm fine."

"Cool, cool," Reno replied. "Tifa here tells me you tried out those gloves I got you. How do you like 'em?"

Denzel shrugged his shoulders absentmindedly. "They're alright, I guess." Tifa gave him a disapproving glare, prompting him to turn back to Reno. "Thanks again."

"Yeah, don't mention it," Reno said.

Tifa cleared her throat. "Denzel, don't you need to go pick up Marlene from dance class?" she suggested.

Denzel rolled his eyes. "She's almost twelve," he groaned. "Can't she walk herself home yet? I wanted to be here when Cloud got back so I could show him the new technique I learned."

Tifa placed her hands on her hips again. "He'll be here when you get back," she said sternly. "Now hurry up. You know how she gets when you're late."

Denzel sighed an exaggerated sigh and threw his hands up in defeat before shuffling toward the door. "Bye Reno," he muttered as he passed.

"See ya 'round, kid."

Denzel slinked out of the bar, slamming the door closed behind him.

"Inseparable, he and Cloud," Tifa said in a sigh. "He idolizes him."

"That might not be such a bad thing," Reno said, tapping his leg on the supports of his stool. "At least he has someone half-decent to look up to."

Tifa gave a soft laugh. "That might be the first nice thing you've ever said about Cloud," she said.

"Yeah, well, don't get used to it," Reno replied. He spun around on his stool and leaned back against the bar, looking out the window absentmindedly. Tifa laughed one last time before returning to her duties, leaving Reno and Rhea alone at the bar.

Rhea took a moment to let the situation sink in. She had always known Reno to be somewhat guarded, never getting very close to anyone outside of his small circle of trusted friends. But to see him interacting with such nice people, let alone someone as young as Denzel—it was pleasantly surprising. After she'd been separated from Reno those twelve years ago, she'd been forced to come to terms with the fact that he had most likely been struck down by the Turks. However, when she'd heard that he'd really joined the very same organization that had left her homeless, it was almost just as devastating. Instead of letting him in and trying to bridge half a decade worth of missing memories, she had pushed him away. But slowly, Rhea was learning that he wasn't nearly the monster she'd made him out to be.

Suddenly, the roar of a loud engine crawled into earshot, and Tifa whirled around. "That'll be him," she remarked as the sound grew louder. There was the distinct roar of a downshift, and a moment later, the sound cut out.

Reno sat up straight before slipping down off his barstool. "Thanks for the company, Tifa," he remarked, tipping his head back toward her. Rhea hopped down and followed her brother toward the door.

"Anytime, Turkey," Tifa called back. "It was nice meeting you Rhea."

Rhea smiled brightly at the brunette before cutting out of the doorway behind Reno. She blinked hard as her eyes adjusted to the bright light, hurrying to follow her brother to the building directly beside the bar. There, they came upon a dark garage, wafting with the distinct smell of gasoline.

Inside, a lithe blonde man was dismounting a hulking motorcycle, his eyes shaded by a pair of dark racing goggles. On his back was strapped a sword almost the length of him, which he slowly unsheathed as Reno approached.

Suddenly, the blonde spun on him, swinging his sword down in flash of white light. Rhea gasped at the sound of metal-on-metal, sparks flying as the sword met with Reno's rod. The two stared at each other for a tense moment, their weapons quivering against one another. Rhea moved to intervene, but stopped as she saw both of them crack wide smiles.

"I was ready for you this time," Reno remarked through gritted teeth.

"Lucky block," the blonde muttered.

After another quiet moment, each released the other, backing away and lowering their weapons. Rhea relaxed, unsure of what sort of strange greeting ritual she'd just witnessed.

The blonde opened a compartment on his motorcycle and slipped his sword inside. Reno, in turn, collapsed his rod and strapped it back to his belt. They then turned back to one another, still smirking.

"I'll get you one of these days," Reno promised, crossing his arms.

"Don't count on it," the blonde replied. "I just didn't want to cut you down in front of your friend there."

Reno cleared his throat. "Cloud, this is my sister, Rhea. Rhea, this is Cloud."

Rhea, finally putting a face to a name, smiled genuinely at him. Cloud nodded in return.

"Pleasure to meet you," Cloud said, closing the compartment on his bike. "What brings you two to this side of town?" He leaned against the dark motorcycle, crossing his arms. "Wouldn't have anything to do with the attack on the W.R.O. headquarters or the meltdown at the reactor, would it?"

Rhea and Reno both lowered their heads. "You could say that…" Reno muttered, scratching his head embarrassedly.

"You really should know by now not to ask me for help cleaning up your mess," Cloud said simply. "The only reason we helped you last time is because Reeve asked us to."

Rhea, beginning to piece things together, realized Tifa and Cloud must have been part of the group of mercenaries that had helped defend the W.R.O. headquarters during the attack. While she understood now why they Cloud seemed to know so much about the current situation, she couldn't wrap her head around the strange animosity that seemed to float between he and Reno.

"I know that," Reno shot back, seeming a little hurt by his words. "We're not here to ask for your help. I just have one, teeny-tiny favor."

Cloud turned back and slouched with one hand on his hip, giving Reno an impatient glare. "You've got five minutes."

Reno took a deep breath. "You obviously know by now that the mastermind behind all the recent chaos is still on the loose," he explained. Cloud nodded. "Rhea and I are planning to go after him ourselves."

"Isn't that a little foolish?" Cloud interjected. "Why not just let the W.R.O. army take care of it?"

Reno shook his head. "Rhea and I have…_personal_ experience with this guy. He's not that easy to track down. We don't want to attract a lot of attention, which means no cavalry and no helicopters, as much as you know that's more my style."

Cloud scoffed. "So what are you getting at?"

Reno jerked his head at the motorcycle beside Cloud. "We're lookin' to travel a bit more like that," he said.

"You can't have Fenrir, if that's what you're asking."

Reno laughed. "Of course not," he said. "But we were hoping you could give us some advice and maybe point us in the right direction."

Cloud sighed and chewed on his lip in thought. After a moment, he stood up straight and crossed his arms. "I might know a guy who can help you out," he said. "But it won't be cheap."

"Rufus wrote me a blank check for this one, so it's all covered."

Rhea looked over at Reno at the mention of Rufus's name. She was a bit surprised to hear that he'd been so willing to fund their rouge expedition to track down Deimos, especially knowing how much he hadn't wanted her to go in the first place.

"That doesn't sound like Rufus," Cloud said, echoing Rhea's concerns. "He's been about nothing but restoration efforts ever since the first attack on Edge."

Reno was silent for a moment. "He has a bit of a vested interest in bringing this guy down," he explained at last. "Deimos is extremely dangerous."

Cloud looked away, his eyes glazing over in deep thought. Slowly, he nodded in agreement. "I saw what he did to his soldiers," he said softly. "I haven't seen anything like that since…"

The two men looked hard at each other, each coming to a mutual, silent conclusion. "There isn't any reason to suspect Jenova cells," Reno said affirmatively. Rhea, confused, looked over to her brother, but he didn't acknowledge her.

"Are you sure?" Cloud asked, his voice reverently quiet.

Reno nodded. "Shelke would have told us. And besides, the last known remains were destroyed over a year ago."

Cloud looked down and heaved a deep sigh. "Be careful, Reno," he cautioned. "It sounds like you're playing with fire again."

"Trust me," Reno urged, "we aren't messing around with this one."

Cloud let out a small laugh, though he didn't exactly look reassured. "You can understand why I find that hard to believe."

Reno shrugged. "Hey now," he said, "I've turned over a new leaf, just like the rest of Shinra. We're all looking out for the best interest of the Planet."

"We'll see about that."

Rhea watched as Cloud stood up straight and turned toward the door to the bar. He moved like a man with a heavy burden on his shoulders, though she couldn't imagine what could be plaguing a man so young and vibrant. "I'll get the equipment you need," he said, his back turned. "Expect them by the end of the day."

His hand fell to the doorknob, and Rhea, spurred by some strange instinct, stepped forward. "Thank you," she said, genuinely. Cloud turned around and looked at her, surprised. After a moment, he nodded once, and she could have sworn he offered her the smallest smile before he disappeared into the bar.

* * *

After another short walk through the city, Rhea and Reno again found themselves at the W.R.O. headquarters, this time riding the elevator down several floors below ground to where the armory lay tucked away, heavily guarded by a foundation of thick concrete. When the elevator doors swung back, Reno set off at a steady pace through the dark halls, moving like a man with purpose. Rhea jogged to keep up. It was strange to see so many sides of Reno all in one day—she had only ever really known him as a young boy, and even then, most of her memories were clouded by trauma and Mako addiction. It was like getting to know him all over again.

When they reached the armory, guarded stoically by two W.R.O. officers, Reno swiped them in and led the way inside. The walls and lockers were only sparsely stocked, having not yet been replenished since the unexpected attack on Edge. Still, Reno seemed able to dig up just what he was looking for in areas unknown to the W.R.O. army grunts.

Rhea took to packing her own weaponry and Materia, agonizing over each piece, knowing they would have to travel as light as possible. She was rummaging through a trunk stocked with Materia when there was the distinct clatter of one of the glassy orbs hitting the ground. She stood up and followed the piece as it rolled across the floor, coming to a stop against the wall. Carefully, she leaned down and picked it up, staring into its swirling depths with muted curiosity—Manipulate.

She turned the piece over in her hand before turning to Reno, who was loading a pistol with a fresh clip. "Reno," she said softly. He stopped packing and turned to her, looking cautiously at the orb in her hand. "What's this stuff about…Jenova?"

His lips pressed tightly together at the mention of the strange name, as if it belonged to some fallen comrade or venerated spirit. He heaved a deep sigh before holstering the pistol and moving toward her. "Jenova is…one of Shinra's ugly secrets," he replied, somewhat shamefully. "Over thirty years ago, Shinra scientists stumbled on the thing buried deep in the Northern Crater. They mistook it for an Ancient and started using its cells to experiment on humans. That's how Sephiroth was born."

Sephiroth—even Rhea was aware of the mighty SOLDIER that had nearly destroyed the planet with his black magic, Meteor.

"But Jenova wasn't an Ancient. It was actually an evil being, a calamity, with incredible powers of persuasion and manipulation that nearly wiped out the Ancients the first time."

Rhea couldn't help but be reminded of Demios as Reno spoke about this creature. He was just as persuasive, just as deadly—with the same mad goals of oppression and blight.

"Jenova cells corrupted Sephiroth, and others like him. Turned them mad and gave them the same immense power. Sephiroth summoned Meteor because the presence of Jenova in his spirit told him to. Ever since he was defeated the first time, Jenova's remains have been like a stinking infestation in this planet. Geostigma, the Remnants—all of them can be traced back to its cells."

Rhea clutched the Materia tightly in her hand. "So Cloud was afraid that Deimos had gotten his hands on Jenova cells," she mused. Reno nodded once. "But you said they've all been destroyed?"

"We've done everything we can to eradicate any and all traces of them," he explained. "But, to tell you the truth, there's really no way to know for sure."

Rhea turned around and placed the Manipulate Materia back into the trunk. "Then I guess we're just going to have to take Deimos down before he can sniff them out."

When she turned back around, Reno was smiling resolutely. She mirrored his smirk and picked up the bag she'd packed, slinging it over her shoulder.

"Hope you're ready," Reno said. "We leave as soon as our ride gets here."


	22. Battles

**A/N: **Hi everyone! I'm back! My apologies for the (VERY) long delay. After a bit of a dry spell with not many readers or reviewers, I decided to take a break from fanfiction. I will say that the recent news of the Final Fantasy VII Remake was one of the catalysts to get me writing again. I'm so excited to see the FFVII story reimagined and revived for so many fans to enjoy!

Anyway, I hope I still have a few readers left to entertain. For those of you who are still interested to see what happens to Rufus and Rhea—and all the beloved FFVII characters in between—please enjoy!

* * *

Hours after Rufus should have returned to bed, he instead found himself alone in the Turk's training gym. It was the one place he always seemed to end up when sleep refused to come to him, mind and body stretched too thin by the title he bore. Tonight, however, it was neither politics nor diplomacy that kept him awake, but rather the strange feeling of emptiness that had hung like a gray haze over the day. It had started the moment he'd awoken to a cold void in his bed, and it had ended in the same way. Though the waking hours had been strung end-to-end with meetings and conferences and every manner of important events, nothing seemed able to distract him from the quiet ache of her absence.

Even the hours spent sweating in the gym did little to ease his discomfort, but he knew eventually the exercise would wear him down enough to where he might be able to fall asleep. It felt good to work his body, mindlessly thrusting weights into the air, lifting himself again and again above the pull-up bar, and listening to the dry buzz of the TV replaying his press conference on a seemingly endless loop. The monotony of it all suppressed his many worries, almost removing the thoughts of her altogether. The only things he felt were the drip of cool sweat, the pressure of each breath escaping his lungs, and the ever-present tingle of his muscles shearing against one another.

Rufus would have been happy to push on through another forty chest presses, but a sharp twinge in his side made him stop dead. The bars slipped from his hands and sent the weights crashing down with a loud slam. His breath hitched in his lungs as the pain radiated through his chest and around his back. He doubled over, clutched at the source of it, and felt the ripple of a fresh scar beneath his fingertips, just beneath his heart. The pain pulsed from it for several moments: no longer a dull ache, but a searing reminder of what had stolen her away from him this time.

The convulsions slowly subsided, and the quivering in his chest turned to wry laughter. Rufus was no stranger to pain—he'd endured ten times this every day while his body was slowly being consumed by Geostigma. But somehow, this pain seemed to hurt him more.

By the time he recovered enough to sit up straight, the TV hanging on the wall across had changed to something other than his face for the first time in an hour. A reporter was standing amidst a group of what looked like angry protesters, holding signs with anti-Shinra symbols on them. Rufus stood and hurried to where he'd left the remote sitting on the weight bench in front of him, quickly turning up the volume.

"...I'm here on the steps of the Edge City Elementary School, where a group of citizens has gathered to protest the President's handling of the Hydra raid. The relatively new building was decimated earlier this week during a showdown between this criminal organization and the WRO armed forces. Thankfully, this part of the city was evacuated before the shootout, but the damage here is still a testament to the seriousness of this attack."

Rufus's heart ached even more at the sight of the crumbling building, which had been less than a year old before its destruction. He had cut the red ribbon himself just before the school year began ten months before.

"I have here with me Enzo Bellamy, former street cop turned school teacher, whose classroom was destroyed in the attack on Monday. Mr. Bellamy, what do you have to say about the incident?"

The camera panned to the left, revealing an astute, confident black man. He had a finely-trimmed mustache and eyes like ice. He was holding a sign that read "REMOVE RUFUS SHINRA." The reporter turned the microphone to him.

"Thanks, Lora. We're gathered here tonight as a group of concerned citizens looking to enact some real change in the way our city is being governed. It's been over five years since Shinra was dissolved, and yet the heir to that corporation still has his hands in the pockets of our government's leaders. Ever since the Shinra Company publicly claimed they were funding the World Restoration Organization, they have been nothing but a target for angry combatants like Hydra—and with good reason. Shinra was the reason Midgar was all but razed five years ago."

Rufus burned with anger and shame as he listened to this poised man drag his name through the mud.

"So why are we still letting this corrupt organization fund our government? Why are we saying "yes" to nepotism and lavish spending? Why are we letting a blameless figurehead lead our city into a new era when he can't even protect our citizens? That's why we, the Concerned Citizens of Edge, believe Rufus Shinra should be removed as acting president of the WRO. It's time for the Shinra Company to answer for a decade worth of criminal acts. It's time for some accountability."

Before he could even think to do otherwise, Rufus shouted and hurled the remote at the television, cracking the screen. As soon as the object left his fingers, the sharp twinge in his chest returned, forcing him down to one knee in pain. Through ringing ears, he heard the sound of the door opening behind him. Rude and Tseng burst inside, hands on the holsters of their guns.

Rufus lifted his free hand to halt them.

"I'm fine," he wheezed between convulsions. "I'm fine." Tseng and Rude relaxed as Rufus came back from the pain. Slowly, he rose to his feet. The TV buzzed with the distorted voices of more protesters. "You can leave."

There was a long pause before Tseng gave a small nod to Rude, who bowed to the president and departed. Tseng stayed rooted to the spot.

"I said you can go, Tseng."

Tseng's gray eyes stayed locked on Rufus. "With all do respect, Mr. President, I think I'll remain here until you're finished."

Rufus released another exasperated laugh. He wiped sweat from his forehead before sinking down on the weight bench behind him. "They want to remove me," he said, leaning forward onto his knees. "After all I've done for them they want to…remove me." He shook his head in disgust.

Tseng was quiet for a while, choosing his words carefully. "No great leader has ever been met without opposition," he said at last. "Even your father knew that."

Rufus scoffed. "My father was not a great leader."

"No," Tseng said, "your father was not a great man. There is a difference. All great men can be leaders—not all leaders are great men. But your father built an empire that spanned the globe in less than 30 years. He was born to lead. And some would say that you were too."

Rufus consumed the words for a long moment, but he could find no meaning in them that could quell his anger. Instead, he rose and powered off the broken television, his heart still pounding in his ears.

"Your father had one fatal flaw." Rufus turned to see that Tseng had moved much closer to him. "He didn't learn from his mistakes," he said. "You have. Show them that you have."

Rufus sighed. It was much easier just to pretend the mistakes hadn't happened at all. "You really think I'm destined for greatness, Tseng?" he asked. "What are you now, a prophet?

If Tseng smiled, it was only for a moment. "I think you were born to be a great leader," he said, "but you have made yourself into a great man. Whether or not that's prophecy, I can't say."

Rufus lifted his head. "Call Reeve. We have work to do."

* * *

By the time Rhea saw the cliffs of Healen growing on the horizon, the sun was just beginning its slow ascent into the sky. She and Reno had left in the dead of night, skirting out of Edge on two small, quiet motorcycles that Cloud had procured for them from a dealer in the slums. It had taken Rhea almost two hours to get the hang of riding such a nimble vehicle, but she was soon shifting gears and banking turns like a professional. She followed closely behind Reno, who expertly led the way to Healen as if he'd made the journey a thousand times.

It wasn't long before they were climbing the lush cliffs, guiding their small motorcycles around hairpin turns and steep switchbacks, under waterfalls and down narrow streets cut through tiny villages. As they neared the summit, Reno came to a stop on a small pull-off overlooking the cliffs and the ravine deep below. He leaned the bike onto one leg and removed his helmet. Rhea pulled up beside him and lifted her visor.

"What's the matter?"

Reno nodded his head toward a shaded terrace on the other side of the ravine. Rhea looked at it and noticed a small stream of smoke wafting up from the trees.

"What is it?" she asked.

"Don't know."

After a solemn moment, Reno replaced his helmet and started off toward the summit again. Rhea spared another glance at the terrace before following her brother.

When they reached the top, a small lodge came into view. It was relatively nondescript, and Rhea wouldn't have even noticed it hidden among the crags and trees had there not be a large blast hole in the side of it. Reno parked his bike at the foot of a winding ramp leading to the lodge's door. Rhea did the same, and they both dismounted.

"What is this place?" Rhea asked.

"This is Rufus's personal retreat," Reno explained as they made their way up the ramp. "He stayed here while he was recovering from Geostigma."

Rhea was beginning to piece it together—Deimos must have thought that Rufus was brought here after the meltdown at Reactor 3. Thankfully, the Turks were able to airlift him quickly and safely to Mideel instead, where his recovery was kept secret from the press. Rufus had been quite angry at the rumors of his death, but Rhea did not regret her decision to fan those flames—it was most likely the only reason he was still alive.

When they reached the front door, Rhea nearly screamed at the sight of a figure emerging from the blast hole in the wall of the lodge. Reno spun toward the movement, but he did not seem afraid or even surprised as a short, grey-haired man stepped out of the shadows. Seeing this, Rhea relaxed.

"Hello Dr. Klein," Reno said, extending his hand to the man. He wore a short white lab coat and khakis with a dress shirt tucked into them. The two men shook hands briefly before Reno motioned to Rhea. "This is my sister, Rhea."

The man, Dr. Klein, extended his hand to her as well. "Pleasure," he said. She shook his hand carefully.

"Dr. Klein is the head physician at the Healen Retreat," Reno explained as introductions were made. "Thanks for agreeing to meet with us."

The doctor nodded. It was only until he moved back into the sun that Rhea noticed he was sporting a black eye and a small, bandaged cut on his forehead.

"What happened here, doctor?"

Dr. Klein turned toward the blast hole in the wall of the lodge. "A pair of bandits tore through the entire Healen Retreat two nights ago," he explained. "They ransacked a couple of facilities before they came to the main hospital where I was working at the time. They held some of the staff hostage and demanded I tell them where the president was."

"What did you tell them?" Reno asked.

"I said I didn't know, but the man threatened to kill my nurses unless I gave him information," Dr. Klein continued. "I told him about this place. They left the hospital and headed for it, but by the time the authorities made it up the mountainside, they were already gone."

Reno turned toward the blast hole and peered into the lodge. "What did they look like?" he asked before stepping over the broken wall.

"One of them was definitely the man broadcast on the press conference yesterday," the doctor confirmed. "The other was…the president's assistant, Cora."

Reno looked back over his shoulder briefly before pressing deeper into the lodge. The doctor climbed back inside, and Rhea followed them both. It was dark inside, the windows and walls covered in soot and debris. It smelled like Mako, but there was no sign of blood or casualties. The remnants of a TV and a couch lay sprawled and charred toward the back of the room. Reno continued past them to broken door on the back wall, which looked as though it had been beaten in. Reno pushed it aside and entered the room beyond.

Rhea, bringing up the rear, cast her eyes around what looked like a bedroom. Instead of furniture, however, the room was filled with filing cabinets, all half open, their contents strewn about without a care. A bare mattress sat at the back of the room, covered in folders and files. Reno picked up a stray paper sitting on the edge of it. "Rufus's research," he said. "On Geostigma."

Dr. Klein spoke up. "After the police finished investigating here, they received reports that the bandits had attacked the research facility on the other side of the cliffs."

Reno spun on the doctor just then. "They're looking for something," he said. "Do you know what happened there?"

Dr. Klein shook his head. "I haven't been able to find out," he admitted. "We've been flooded with patients from the raid. But according to rumors at the clinic, it was bad."

It was quick—like a switch flipping in his brain. Reno's eyes went wide and he pivoted abruptly, making a dash for the exit. "Hey!" Rhea called, following him quickly out of the room and toward the blast hole in the side of the lodge. "Hey, where are you going?!"

Reno looked back at her, if only for a moment. "Where do you think?"

Rhea vaulted through the hole, the doctor close behind. Below, Reno descended the ramp at lightning speed.

"Thanks again, doc," he called before jumping onto his bike. "You were a big help." He strapped his helmet on. "Rhea!"

Confused and anxious, Rhea sped down the slope and mounted her own bike. As she powered it up, she saw the doctor hurrying down the ramp after them. "Be careful!" he called over the roar of their engines. "They could still be out there."

Reno knocked his kickstand back. "That's the hope."

* * *

Devastation.

It was the only word to describe the smoldering remnants of the WRO research facility, its walls burned away from its foundation, leaving rusted girders reaching into the sky like acid-soaked bones. Rhea watched as a steady wind blew the green-black smoke over the terrace's steep precipice, carrying the waterfall of destruction down the mountainside. No place was safe from his wrath—not the humblest dwelling, nor the strongest monument.

Reno left Rhea where she stood at the edge of the forest and made his way toward the rubble and ruin. There were people there—not many, but enough—sifting helplessly through the debris as if there might be some hope amongst the devastation.

A man came out to meet Reno—a WRO military police officer, by the looks of it. Reno flashed his badge and the soldier stood at attention.

"At ease, officer," Reno told him. "What's your name?"

The officer relaxed. "Sergeant Perth, Sir."

Rhea moved slowly out toward the pair of them.

"What happened here, Sarge?" Reno asked, resting his hands on his hips as he surveyed the destruction.

"Another raid, sir," Perth replied. "We believe them to be the same group that led the attack on Edge."

"You'd be exactly right, Sarge," Reno said, kicking a charred piece of cement that lay at his feet. "Looks like they used the same Mako weaponry as before."

"The facility wasn't outfitted for military defense," the sergeant continued. "We never expected an attack at a place like this. It was built to be isolated for a reason. Only a few people outside of the researchers who worked here even knew it existed."

Reno snapped his head back to the officer, who straightened up anxiously. "What's the purpose of this facility?" Reno asked.

Perth hesitated.

"...Well?"

"Materia research," Perth said. "...Sir."

Rhea watched as Reno contorted his face to hide the rage behind it. He moved past the officer to gather himself.

"What kind of Materia did they study here?" Reno went on.

Again, Perth was silent for a long time. "Rare Materia," he finally replied. "Summons. Destruct and Comet spells. Manipulate—"

Reno made a noise like all the wind being knocked out of him. He pressed his hands into his face and slowly raked his fingers through his blood-red hair. "That son of a bitch," he whispered.

It didn't take Rhea long to figure out that he wasn't talking about Deimos.

After a long, strained silence, Reno climbed up onto a broken-down wall a few feet in front of them. "What's the body count, Sergeant?"

"That's the thing," Perth replied. "...There are no bodies."

* * *

"You LIED to me!"

Rhea sat with her legs dangling over the edge of the terrace, her eyes cast down into the steep and seemingly endless ravine below. Behind her, Reno paced uncontrollably with his phone pressed to his ear.

"You told me we were done researching Materia, that it wasn't safe anymore, that in the wrong hands—" He paused. "THIS is the wrong hands, Rufus! This is as wrong as you can get! You do realize—"

Rhea wondered how long it would take for her to reach the bottom of the ravine if she were to slip off right then. She wondered how long it would take Reno to notice she had fallen.

"No. No, you have no idea what you're up against. And now, thanks to you, we don't either. He could be out there ready to unleash a summon against half a world of innocent civilians—"

Rhea tucked her knees up to her chest and closed her eyes, catching the sweet, sickly scent of Mako drifting past her on the hot, heavy breeze.

"...Yes, sir. Understood."

Reno hung up and nearly crushed his phone in his hand as he unleashed an angry roar. "You know, your boyfriend's a real pain in the ass!" he shouted, causing Rhea to shoot him a look of daggers over her shoulder. "Always has been." He calmed his tone, though it still held a sharp edge of contempt. "Just thought you'd like to know."

Rhea stood abruptly, and her brother suddenly tensed and swayed forward, his hands reaching out to her. Rhea shook her head disbelievingly and brushed past him. She knew he wouldn't follow her.

She tore across the scorched earth, making for the tent they'd set up in the middle of what used to be the facility's courtyard. Once there, she burst inside and pulled out her own cell phone, dialing the only number in her call history.

It rang four times before his breath came hissing through the receiver.

For a long moment, she couldn't muster a single word.

"...Rhea?"

"How could you?"

It was his turn for silence.

"How could you do this? Why did you let him take this place? You knew it was here and you didn't tell us. You didn't tell them. Those innocent people, you let them die—"

"No one's dead, Rhea."

Her lips curled back incredulously. "What?"

"I said, no one died." His voice was steady. "As soon as I heard Deimos was making his way to Healen, I knew it wouldn't be long until he found that facility. I had it evacuated the night before you left, along with all the other WRO facilities in the Marsh Valley."

Rhea covered her mouth to stifle the tears of relief that choked in her throat.

"That lodge had maps to all the classified facilities on the Eastern Continent. I knew he couldn't resist that information—I knew he'd strike one of them. I just had to figure out which one. But now we know what he's after."

Rhea pulled the phone away from her ear to wipe her cheeks and steady herself.

"Rhea?" She lifted the phone again, listening the soft timbre of his voice. "Do you understand now why I did it?"

She shook her head and began pacing. "No," she hissed, "no—Reno said you weren't supposed to be dealing with Materia anymore. After Meteor, the WRO took a vow to stop mass-producing Materia. Why do you have a whole facility dedicated to it?"

"The Materia at that facility wasn't mass-produced," he said. "It was naturally-occurring. As the Planet heals itself, these Mako springs have begun to appear all over the continents. It's a natural side-effect of the healing process. The WRO is simply trying to keep tabs on them—to study them, and to make sure they stay safe." Rufus paused. "It's unfortunate that Deimos was able to get his hands on some of those pieces, but it was a necessary casualty. We lost a battle, but not the war."

Rhea was silent for a long time.

"No more battles."

Rufus hesitated. "I'm sorry?"

"If we're going to win this war, you can't give up any more battles." Her voice was decisive—no tears wavering in her words. "I left so I could fight—so let me fight. I know you don't want me to. I know you want to protect me. But you can't have it both ways. You can't protect me and win this war."

She heard him breathing. It made her feel alive.

"No more battles."


	23. Mysteries

**AN: **Thank you to all my returning readers, and a shoutout to any newcomers to the story! It's good to be back, and I'm glad you're enjoying the most recent update. I have lots more planned for this story, so your readership is greatly appreciated!

Good news for you Rufus lovers—this chapter is all about him. But don't worry, Reno and Rhea will be back in the next chapter! As always, please read and review if you enjoyed or have thoughts to share.

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"We should release a statement that says we fully support the President's actions."

"No, it's too soon. It'll come off as defensive."

"What if we put the President out at ground zero, get him in front of the press—?"

"That would seem insincere, don't you think?"

Rufus sat at the head of the conference table with his chin resting in his hand, only half-listening to his advisors squabble mercilessly over him. They were all trying to figure out how to bolster his image after the PR nightmare that had started the night before. The Concerned Citizens of Edge, or the CCE as the press began calling them, had continued their protest into the morning, moving from building to wrecked building, shouting their rhyming chants and toting their picket signs. But Rufus's mind still lingered on the shattered walls of the elementary school, the ground strewn with finger paintings and upturned desks. The disturbing image had haunted him all night.

Rufus suddenly caught Reeve's stoney eyes across the table from him, bringing his attention back to the present. Somehow, the conversation had shifted to digging up dirt on the CCE's members and using it against them.

Rufus stood abruptly and beat his palms down on the conference room table. "It doesn't matter!" he shouted, causing the chatter to come to a sudden halt, all eyes magnetizing to him. "You are all missing the point!" He trailed his gaze down the line of shocked faces, his fingers twitching where they lay on the table. "This is _exactly_ what they want from us—they want us to argue and fight about petty things like this. They want to distract us from our _true_ goal: Restoring. This. Planet." The advisors exchanged nervous glances, but Reeve kept his eyes locked on Rufus as he spoke. "We've already had enough setbacks. I don't have _time_ to entertain every piece of criticism to come from the public—not when I have a mass murderer on the loose."

An advisor near the end of the table—an ex-Shinra executive—cleared his throat and pointed at the folder sitting open in front of him. "But sir," he said quietly, "Approval numbers are down nearly—"

"Fuck the approval numbers!" Rufus shouted, beating his knuckles against the hardwood. The advisors sat up even straighter. "Approval numbers don't rebuild ruined homes. Approval numbers can't…bring back dead soldiers, or stabilize the economy. So, I'm sorry Mr. Bolton, but _fuck_ the approval numbers."

The old man pursed his lips and closed the folder in front of him.

"Now we can spend the next hour in this conference room bickering about public opinion," Rufus continued, his voice calmer and steadier, but no less full of conviction. "Or—we can put our heads down and figure out how we're going to fix this mess."

After a few moments of nervous silence, the advisors began shuffling papers and murmuring amongst themselves. Across the table, Rufus caught sight of Reeve's lips twitching into a smile.

* * *

It was happening again.

Another sleepless night spent in an empty bed.

When Rhea had first left, Rufus didn't understand why her absence had affected him so gravely; they'd been allowed naught but a week's worth of nights together, half of them spent clinging to one another in fear of death. But as the time wore on, Rufus realized he'd let something worse than death happen to him: he had fallen in love with Rhea Flynnt.

It was the one thing he'd promised himself he wouldn't allow. When she first came to him, wounded and starving for life, he made himself a vow not to get too close. It had taken only a turn of her cheek, a flick of her hair, a flash of the pain behind her eyes for him to break that vow. In his insatiable campaign to pick up her pieces, he had completely and utterly shattered himself.

It had happened before. He remembered it with aching familiarity: The feel of an empty bed, a sweet scent left lingering on sheets and pillowcases, the swaying silhouette hiding in the shadows of twilight.

The time and venue were different, of course—it had happened six years ago in his flat in Junon, to which he'd been sequestered after his father had discovered him bankrolling a terrorist organization to shame him into stepping down as President. The endeavor had unfortunately backfired and ended instead in his father placing him on house arrest indefinitely.

Furious as he was, Rufus found life on house arrest very easy to swallow for a while. It was like being on extended vacation in his favorite city. His flat had come complete with everything he'd ever need—food, clothes, countless activities to entertain himself with—and, of course, two Turks to guard his door 24 hours a day. The solitude started out refreshing, but eventually became so vexing he thought he might go mad. His favorite pastime soon became nothing more than religiously watching the Shinra Information Network just so he could criticize his father's political moves.

Worst of all, Rufus was only allowed outside twice a day on a 6x6 balcony overlooking the ocean nearly 50 stories below. He would smoke his cigarette, watch the sunset, and return to the 10 empty rooms with their empty beds and sleep until the sun was high the next day.

In his second year of house arrest, the solitude eventually wore on him to the point where he thought he might throw himself off the balcony in despair. One evening, Rufus decided instead of downing his drink and returning to the TV, he would make conversation with the Turk assigned to guard him: a young and impudent redhead with two distinct scars on his cheeks.

"Do you ever get bored of guard duty, Reno?" Rufus asked, stirring his vodka tonic.

The Turk, standing at the door with his hands shoved in his pockets, looked surprised when Rufus addressed him. "It's not so bad, Sir," he said at last.

"Come on, you can tell me the truth," he said. "It can't be any worse than being locked in this house for the rest of your life."

"I don't think you'll be here much longer," Reno replied.

"You and Rude and Tseng have been telling me that for the past year," Rufus muttered between a sip of his drink.

"It's for your own protection, Sir."

"Oh, please," Rufus spat. "It's for my father's peace of mind. He thinks if I were to get out I'd go straight back to trying to overthrow him."

The Turk didn't respond.

"And you know, Reno…" Rufus took a long sip of his drink. "He's not wrong."

Reno shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "All due respect, Sir," he said. "Why did you think had to kick your old man out? He would have given you his seat anyway. You're his son, after all."

"That's exactly why I needed to do it," Rufus replied, turning around to face the massive expanse of the ocean. "I wanted him to give me his seat because he felt like I deserved it…not because I was the only option."

"And you thought funding a terrorist group was the best way to do it?"

Rufus gave an amused scoff. "When you say it like that, it sounds horrible," he said.

Reno laughed uneasily, prompting Rufus to turn to him. He stared at the redhead for a while, wondering how such a scrawny kid had managed to make it so far up the Turks' ranks. Rufus had read Reno's file once—learned about how he'd been liberated from a street gang at the tender age of 16—and could hardly believe what he was capable of. Rufus knew, if nothing else, he was lucky to have the loyalty of the Turks on his side.

"I need you to get me out of here, Reno," Rufus said at last.

Reno's sharp features twisted with discomfort. "You know I can't do that, Sir."

"Not for good," he said. "Just for one night. Sneak me out of here. I need to go somewhere—do something. Be near people." He turned his head up to the sky. "It's maddening in here."

"Sir, your father would have my head on a platter if he found out—"

"And that's why he won't find out."

Reno scratched the back of his head roughly. "I don't know," he said. "Sneaking you past Tseng would be next to impossible. And sorry, Sir, but you're not worth losing my job over. The pay is too damn good."

Rufus grinned. "I'll double your monthly pay," he said. "For two months. What do you say?"

It was easy to see the Gil flashing in Reno's eyes, who's face quickly lit up with a smile. "Make it three and you have yourself a deal."

It took no more than five minutes for Reno to sneak Rufus past Tseng and Rude, down the fire escape and onto the streets of Junon. Rufus felt as though Reno must have done this before, possibly even with his own father, disguising him and escorting him away from danger during one of the numerous bomb threats they'd received at the HQ or through an anti-Shinra rally in the slums.

Before they'd left, Reno had given Rufus a new outfit to wear: a brown leather jacket with a hood and a navy blue button down over khaki slacks. Rufus had never voluntarily worn anything other than a white suit since he was a child, though he couldn't truthfully remember why. In addition to throwing his hood up over his head, Reno had insisted Rufus slick his hair back for the night to further disguise himself. At first, Rufus had hated the look, but as the night wore on it began to grow on him.

As Reno led the way through the streets of Junon, Rufus took time to inspect every person he passed, absolutely enthralled to see the faces of someone other than Reno, Rude and Tseng for once. He didn't even bother to ask where Reno was taking him, just happy to be allowed the chance to breathe the night air and feel his feet on something other than the hardwoods of his flat. It wasn't until they had boarded an elevator and sunk several stories down that Rufus realized Reno was bringing him to the Squalor beneath the upper streets of Junon. These shantytowns, much like the slums of Midgar, prospered on the scrap and waste from the upper echelons. The residents lived in homes made of broken concrete or old, discarded military equipment and made a living trading illegal arms and Materia.

Rufus expected himself to be disgusted with the place upon first entering it, but the truth was far stranger. He was fascinated by it, by the sights and sounds and the myriad of smells—rusted metal, street garbage, fried seaworm being cooked by a street vendor—all wafting by him as he weaved between the dregs and outcasts, his smile growing wider with every step.

"Welcome to the Squalor," Reno muttered. "Sorry. It's the only place I could think to bring you where you wouldn't be—"

"It's amazing," Rufus interrupted, stopping to watch a street performer balancing knives on his fingers and forehead. He turned to see Reno staring at him, looking quite surprised. "How do these people live like this?"

"They don't know what they're missing, I guess," he replied. Rufus returned to watching the street performer, grinning from ear to ear. "Well, where do you want to go on your one and only night out?"

After the performer was finished and had taken his bow, Rufus turned to survey his surroundings. The street was filled with every manner questionable establishments, from pawn shops to bars, as well as several weapons stores posing as "antique collectors." Rufus looked up and down the street for the night's first venue, but before he even had time to decide, the street suddenly erupted in mayhem as a pair of men burst out of a bar throwing punches at one another. A crowd of people surged to life and began circling around the pair, pushing and shoving to get a front-row seat. In the midst of the riot, Rufus lost sight of Reno, pushed along with the flow of bodies as they moved toward the fight. Utterly disoriented, Rufus stood on his toes to try and find Reno amongst the crowd, but found himself instead on the inside of the fight circle.

It hit him like a ton of bricks—the fighting men had suddenly surged toward Rufus and slammed into his side, sending him squeezing through the bodies and out of the crowd on the other side. He stumbled backward for several feet until his body was finally stopped by something soft behind him.

"Hey, watch where you're going, asshole!"

Rufus spun abruptly, half shocked and half offended, to see what had broken his fall. He was met with an angry, hazel-eyed glare and pink lips scrunched into a scowl.

Rufus cleared his throat as he finally righted himself. "Sorry."

Despite her look of pure detest, the woman was quite beautiful: she had shimmering auburn curls, drawn back into a half-fallen twist, and her green-grey eyes seemed filled with questions. Her fair skin glowed, even in the light buzzing blue neon sign above her. She was wearing a decadent fur coat draped just below her shoulders, like one his mother used to wear. She clenched it together with one hand while the other brought a cigarette to her lips.

"You're not from around here, are you?" she said, eyeing him suspiciously.

"Uh, no." Rufus stammered. "Just visiting."

"Well you'd better watch your step," she said. "People don't take kindly to being bumped into around here." She nodded her head toward the bloody brawl taking place a few feet away.

"Thanks," he said.

She smirked and finished the rest of her cigarette. "Don't mention it." She turned away from him.

"Wait," Rufus said suddenly. She turned back, wearing that same scornful look as when he'd first collided with her. "You got a light?"

She paused as if in thought, but eventually reached in the pocket of her coat and retrieved a small lighter. She struck it and held it out to him. Rufus pulled a cigarette out of the pack in his pocket and brought it to his lips, leaning into the flickering flames. He hid his smile with his hand and puffed until the embers burned bright.

When he pulled away, the woman kept her arm outstretched for a moment. Suddenly she flipped the lighter over in her palm and handed it to him. "Keep it," she said. "By the looks of it, you need it more than I do."

Rufus accepted it, but he didn't have time to thank the woman before she disappeared into the building behind her. He instead turned his eyes to the lighter, reading the words stickered across it: "ANGELFISH GENTLEMAN'S CLUB."

Rufus quickly looked up and saw the same letters buzzing in neon above him. A sly smile broke across his features.

Just then, he felt a heavy hand fall on his shoulder and turned to see Reno looking out of breath beside him.

"There you are," Reno gasped, "thank fuck. I thought you'd been kidnapped or something."

Rufus chuckled, pocketing the small lighter. "Relax, Reno," he said. "You were right. Nobody would recognize me looking like this."

"You need to stay close anyway," Reno urged. "This place is dangerous even for people who aren't the sons of politicians."

"Whatever you say, bodyguard." Rufus crossed his arms. "Listen, I found where I want to go for the night." He smiled and gestured to the club behind him.

Reno looked at the building, then trailed his eyes up to the sign. He let loose a hearty laugh. "You do know what kind of place this is, right boss?"

Rufus's smile disappeared and he narrowed his eyes. "Reno," he said bluntly. "I haven't seen a female body in nearly two years. Can you blame me for wanting to make up for lost time?"

Reno stopped laughing and pursed his lips together. "No, sir." He cleared his throat to steady his voice. "Well, let's go then."

Rufus stood rooted to the spot for a moment, simply pondering what he was about to do. He knew it was foolish to chase after this woman—who was, without a doubt, an employee of this establishment—but the thrill of freedom spurred him onward. He had seen a thousand mysteries behind her eyes, and he so badly wanted to solve them all.

A sharp ringing sound echoed through his mind, sending Rufus surging back to the present. He opened his eyes to see the empty space on the bed beside him again, the stars of Edge bleeding through the curtains on the other side of the room. The sharp ringing returned, and Rufus turned over to pull his phone off the bedside table. The screen was alight with Reeve's name—a late hour for a social call. He answered.

"Reeve?" he said. "What is it?"

"Turn on channel 3."

Rufus sat bolt upright, hung up the phone and jumped out of his bed, moving to the television on the other side of the room. He powered it on and quickly navigated to the WRO Network. His heart dropped as he saw the stoic face of the CCE's leader come into focus. He was sitting across from a well-respected talk show host, her hand poised over a pad of paper sitting in her lap.

"So, Mr. Bellamy—"

"Please, Alice, call me Enzo."

"Enzo—tell me again why you believe Rufus Shinra should be removed as president of the WRO."

"Alice, before I answer that I'd like to amend your question a little bit. It's not just me who feels this way. The CCE takes in new members every day who believe the same as I do. But the answer to your question is simple: We believe the president is unworthy of his title. Rufus Shinra is, at his core, an unethical and unqualified leader. Just look at his track record as president of the Shinra Company—weapons trafficking, guerilla warfare, kidnapping, torture, live executions. And let's not forget Meteor."

Rufus's body grew rigid with every word uttered, his hand crunching around the phone in his hand.

"I lost my family to Geostigma. My wife and two children. I watched the light leave their eyes as the sickness took them."

The reporter was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry for your loss, Enzo. I can't imagine that pain."

"It was a tragedy. A preventable one. And now that it's been five years, people seem to think it's okay to forget about those things. But we're here to remind everyone. Sure, it looks like he's turned over a new leaf. He's been funding the WRO programs with blank checks, but to what end? What does he have to gain from all of this?"

The reporter leaned forward in her chair. "Perhaps the president feels genuine remorse for what happened under his command—for what happened to families like yours."

"Do you really believe that Alice?"

"Well, you can't deny the fact that the relocation assistance program has helped countless people rebuild their lives after the fall of Meteor."

"Is that so?" A smirk broke across the protester's face. "Did the president tell you about his secret love affair with one of the program's beneficiaries?"

Rufus dropped the phone in his hand.

On the screen, the reporter sat up straighter. "I'm sorry?"

"Not only has the president been playing favorites with the relatives of his employees, but he also likes to date them."

"Hold on, Enzo—are you telling me the president is seeing a relocation assistance beneficiary? And that she is a relative to a WRO employee?"

"Yes, Alice," Enzo spat, "and I have reason to believe he put the entire city in danger for her."


	24. Heard

**A/N: **Hey everyone! I'm back with another update. Sorry they're not as frequent as they once were. I rarely have the chance to write at work anymore because I'm so busy (I shouldn't be doing that anyway, right? ...Right?!). Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this update. Please leave a follow, fav or review if you did.

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Rhea had never known the sun to be so bright. It was directly overhead now, its golden rays having chased them across the plains all morning on their way toward the Mythril Mines. She turned her face up to its warmth and closed her eyes, carving out a special place in her mind to store this memory away.

Beside her, Reno rummaged through the bag strapped to the back of his bike, conducting a last-minute gear check before they crossed the festering marsh that lay between them and the mines. "We have to be ready in case the Zolom decides to rear its ugly head," he'd said, referring to the giant snake-like creature that inhabited the marshlands. The hideous monster had defied every attempt by the WRO to eradicate it, including a last-ditch carpet bombing that had killed literally every other monster in a 10 mile radius. Reeve had since accepted the creature's persistence and instead devoted resources to building a bridge across the marsh to grant access to the southern half of the continent. Construction on this bridge hadn't yet begun, but a primitive raised road had been constructed out of wooden beams to allow for construction vehicles to cross unhindered.

Though Rhea was enjoying the feel of the sun on her skin, she was getting impatient with her brother knowing Deimos could be halfway across the continent by now.

"Oh, come on, Reno," she groaned, leaning lazily over the seat of her bike. "You know as well as anyone the Zolom doesn't pop up unless you piss it off. Let's just get it over with."

"Sure, but we won't hit another store for at least 30 miles. I wanna make sure we have everything we need…"

"We spent nearly 5,000 Gil at the chocobo farm," Rhea shot back. "I'm sure we'll have enough potions to last us a lifetime."

Reno grumbled and began zipping up pockets on his bag. "Fine," he said, knocking back the kickstand on his bike, "but when you run out, I'm not gonna let you have any of mine."

Rhea smiled, jumping on her bike and starting the ignition. Reno followed suit, and they were soon on their way.

As Rhea eased her bike into a steady pace on the narrow road, it suddenly occurred to her that this was the farthest she'd ever been away from Midgar or Edge. She'd only seen the very edge of the marsh once while escorting a large shipment of Mako to a dealer on the other side of the Mythril Mines. That had been nearly 15 years earlier, and even that memory was nearly lost in the clouded recesses of her mind. She remembered only the pungent scent of the marsh and the vague, haunting feeling that something dark lay at the bottom of it.

It came quickly—broke through the wooden road like a sword thrust into the sky. A flaming shadow grew over them, thin and slithering, and Rhea instinctively slammed on the breaks, causing the wheels of her bike to lock up and send her into a deep skid. She came to a stop mere inches from the broken, ragged edge of the make-shift road. Seconds later, the shadow above came crashing down behind them, splashing into the muck and mud like discarded plaything. Rhea's eyes went wide as they trailed up the exposed underbelly of none other than the Zolom itself, lying charred, steaming and motionless.

Before she could even process the scene before her, another shadow began a slow crawl out of the space between the broken road. Rhea felt an intense heat wash over her from head to toe, and she soon dropped her bike and stumbled backward in an attempt to escape the boiling air. When she turned back around, the source of the inferno revealed itself: The great Summon Ifrit opened its fiery maw and released a cry of pure, hellish fury.

"What the h—"

Reno wasn't allowed to finish his thought—the great beast before them raised its arms and sent forth a shockwave of crackling flame. Rhea jumped to avoid it, leaving Reno to crouch behind his parked motorcycle for cover. Rhea landed on a lone boulder protruding out of the marsh several feet away.

Ifrit, now standing on the other side of the broken road, turned his attention to her. The creature pulled free a loose beam from the road beneath him and, with sheer will alone, set it ablaze in his hand. He then coiled his arm back and hurled the flaming beam like a javelin, traveling straight for her.

Rhea watched the flaming spear as if it were flying in slow motion, and just before impact, she sank down low and raised her arm, flinching away from the ember-filled impact that followed. The barrier she called up had absorbed the blow completely, leaving nothing but shimmering ash in its wake.

Acting quickly, Rhea dropped her barrier and drew the two handguns that lay strapped to her thighs, taking aim at the rogue Summon. She opened fire on Ifrit, pulling each trigger in a perfect rhythm. While firing, she jumped across the marsh and landed back on the road beside Reno. Ifrit flinched back with every bullet, raising its great hands to cover its head.

Reno took the chance to strike. In an instant, he flew across the gap in the road with his rod drawn, striking Ifrit while his back was turned. The impact broke one its horns clean off, and the creature howled as it was sent careening into the marsh. The muck and mud bubbled as Ifrit sank knee-deep into it, but the creature would not be vanquished so easily. He pushed himself back to his feet and leaned his head back to the sky, releasing another hell-borne cry as his body was enveloped in flames. Reno turned and readied himself, but he wasn't quick enough—the creature launched himself forward, carrying with him a cloak of hellfire.

Rhea didn't even have time to think—one moment, she was standing nearly 20 feet away from her brother, the next she was beside him, throwing her shoulder into his body to force him out of the rageful Summon's path. She breathed a sigh of relief as he stumbled to the ground and slid to safety, but it took only a moment more for her to register a searing pain clawing down her back and calves. The Summon's attack had clipped her just enough to singe away the clothes from her back and burn the skin of her legs. She cried out and collapsed to her knees, reaching her arm around to touch the raw, exposed skin on her calves.

Behind her, Ifrit released a roar of triumph, sending Reno surging to his feet with rage. Rhea turned to see the creature standing on the other side of the road, cloaked in flame. Ifrit raised his mighty fists and summoned two fireballs into each of his palms. Rhea could have sworn she heard the creature laugh—a laugh so sonorous it almost seemed human—before he hurled the fireballs in their direction. Reno quickly dashed forward and placed his body between Rhea and the attack, just in time to summon a barrier to stop it. As the flames deflected and enveloped them, Rhea forced herself to push through the pain and stood defiantly. She raised her arm and summoned forth the strongest Ice spell she could muster. It cut through the flames and hit the creature square in the abdomen, building a wall of ice around it. Ifrit cried out as its fire was slowly extinguished, the fight leaving its blackened eyes. Its body soon became all but immobilized, limbs and muscles frozen solid in three inches of ice.

Rhea could feel her spirit struggling and dropped her arm, falling back down to one knee. Reno turned and stooped beside her.

"Rhea—"

But she shook her head. "Finish it."

His eyes shining with defiance, Reno stood and took aim at the creature with his rod. Like lightning, he surged across the gap and drove his rod straight through Ifrit's heart, shattering the creature into a million pieces.

As the clatter of ice filled the air, Rhea struggled back to her feet and turned to see her brother collapsing his rod and strapping it back to his belt. He then doubled over and rested his hands on his knees, releasing a long, loud whistle. After a moment, he straightened back up and ran his hands through his hair. "What...the hell...was _that_?" he exclaimed.

Rhea shook her head and hopped across the stones and debris in the gap to meet her brother on the other side of the road.

Reno was looking around frantically now. "Where did it come from? And who the _hell_ called it out? I haven't seen anyone for miles!"

"I don't know," Rhea replied, grasping her shoulder where a large gash was rubbing painfully against her shirt. "But Reno…" He turned to her. "Did it seem almost..._human _to you?" With a shiver, Rhea recalled the demonic laughter uttered by the Summon just before he'd unleashed his hellfire.

"Yeah…" Reno agreed, his eyes still scanning the horizon as if the summoner might reveal himself. "Almost like it had a mind of its own."

They turned to one another just then, each with the embers of fearful revelation glowing in their eyes.

* * *

It was cool and dark inside the winding halls of Fort Condor; Rhea was grateful for the dry air against her tingling, burn-welted skin. She lay prone on one of the inn's three beds, trying to control her winces as Reno carefully applied a salve to the scrapes and gashes on her shoulders and back. The room was uncomfortably silent except for the monotonous buzz of the old box television humming the news on the other side of the room.

Rhea was not brave enough to speak the disturbing thoughts that whirled in her mind, though she knew she didn't have to. Despite having spent most of their adult lives living in completely different worlds, she and Reno still shared an uncanny mental connection. They both knew there was only one explanation for the rogue summon that had appeared at the marsh. What they didn't know, however, was how to find the man responsible.

Finally, words came to Rhea's lips: "Do you think he was just toying with us?"

Reno stopped his work on her wounds. "What do you mean?"

"There had to have been more powerful Materia at that facility," she continued. "Why use that one? Why choose _that_ summon?"

"You think he was trying to tell us something?"

Rhea nestled her chin deeper into the pillow beneath her. "I don't know," she said. "But he could have killed us. Why didn't he show himself? Why did he let us go?"

Reno had no words for her this time. What else could he say to ease his sister's mind that hadn't already been said? He had spent nearly six years trying to win back her trust, and now that they were here, together, searching for a way to bring closure to their troubled past, the only thing he could do was patch her wounds and hope she would heal on her own.

"Holy shit."

Reno tensed as he felt Rhea jump up and out of bed, worried someone or something might be attacking them. When she moved toward the TV, Reno relaxed a bit. "What is it? What are you doing?"

"Turning up the TV." Rhea knelt down beside the tiny cube and cranked the volume knob to full blast. What came next was a voice and face so familiar, Reno's jaw nearly hit the floor.

"Did the president tell you about his secret love affair with one of the program's beneficiaries?"

On the screen, a confident black man reclined in plush chair, his face adorned with a smirk of pure triumph. Reno knew that smirk—he had seen it every night for two years of his miserable, drug-running life.

"Is that…?"

"Enzo," Rhea finished, her voice a sliver of a whisper.

Not even thirteen years could conceal the boy Reno and Rhea had once known. Nothing could hide behind a smile like his.

On the TV, he continued: "Not only has the president been playing favorites with the relatives of his employees, but he also likes to date them."

The reporter across from him spoke up: "Hold on, Enzo—are you telling me the president is seeing a relocation assistance beneficiary? And that she is a relative to a WRO employee?"

"Yes, Alice, and I have reason to believe he put the entire city in danger for her."

Rhea clasped her hand over her mouth, sitting defeatedly back on her heels.

"The woman in question has ties to the gang that led the raid on Edge. I happen to know she was once a drug runner for them during their first stint of power back in the years before Meteor."

"May I ask what your sources are?" said the dumbfounded reporter.

"I'm afraid I can't reveal that," Enzo replied. "The point is, the President trusted her enough to put the entire city at the mercy of a ruthless drug lord for her. Why would he trust her so willingly, knowing her ties to Hydra? The only logical answer is that he was trying to make a deal with the group, and it backfired."

"What could the President have to gain from a deal with a street gang?"

"I have it on good authority that Hydra was manufacturing a new drug, the properties of which allow the user to control the actions of anyone who is injected with it. Sounds like a pretty enticing opportunity for a man in search of unyielding power, don't you think? How else do you explain why the President was found at the scene of the meltdown at Reactor 3?"

"The WRO released an official statement saying he was kidnapped."

"Do you really think the WRO can afford to tell the truth when they rely on the President's checks to keep their programs afloat?"

The reporter no longer had any words.

"You see, Alice, the city is in such a state of complacency that they no longer have the ability to see past the president's lies. I'm here to change that."

An eerie quiet fell over the studio in the wake of Enzo's words. Finally, the reporter closed her notepad and crossed her hands in her lap.

"Well, Enzo… These are all very compelling claims," she said. "However, without revealing your source, that's all they can be: Allegations. How do you intend to prove them true?"

A cold, calculating smile crawled across Enzo's face. He turned and looked straight into the lens of the camera, and Rhea felt a cold chill ricochet down her rigid spine.

"I ask the President—no, I _dare_ him—to come and tell me to my face that these claims aren't true. I _dare_ him to come out of the WRO's shadow and take responsibility for his actions. I want him to tell me that there was nothing he could have done to prevent these disasters. I want him to tellme there's a _reason_ my wife and children are buried in the dirt."

Rhea clutched at the cold, steady beat of her heart.

"I'll be waiting."

* * *

The city always looked different when bathed in starlight. It seemed more expansive, more unwieldy—rebellious. But it was still his city. He had built it from the ground up—if not with his bare hands, then with his will. He had molded it and shaped it—scolded it, embraced it, picked it up when it fell down. No matter how defiant it became, he could still close his eyes and dream that he was walking across its rooftops like lily pads or holding its skyscrapers in the palm of his hand.

It was his.

Rufus's eyes surged open when the chime of ice rattling in a glass brought him surging back to reality. Reeve's office bled back into his vision. Beside him, the black-haired man poured himself another bourbon on the rocks. When he finished, Reeve tilted the decanter toward Rufus. After a respectable pause, Rufus held out his empty glass. He watched the amber liquid swirl dangerously toward the rim, his head already light with despondency.

Not a word had been uttered between the two of them since Rufus had entered the room. He was glad Reeve had understood his need for silence, but Rufus knew it would not last. Soon the phones would be ringing, the advisors would start squabbling, and the reporters would come crying for whatever filthy drop of information they could squeeze out of him. It had been nearly five years since he had last stood over a threatened city preparing himself for war, but this time, Rufus wasn't sure he could win.

"We should give him what he wants."

Rufus was surprised to hear his own voice breaking the drone of silence, and even more so when he realized the words he'd spoken. He had never truly thought it possible that he might one day admit defeat, let alone to a foe so small.

"I'm sorry?"

Rufus broke a wry smile and turned to Reeve. "I'll have the writers draft a resignation letter. If I bow out gracefully, the people might forgive you."

"But Rufus—"

"No," he cut in. "No more excuses." Reeve looked almost hurt, though he did not protest. "You know just as well as I do this is the best option."

Reeve cast his eyes out over the city and looked as though he'd just realized for the first time how small he really was. Rufus reached out and put his hand on his friend's shoulder.

"You never really needed me anyway," Rufus said.

Reeve's lips formed a serene smile, his black eyes alight with a thousand streetlamps. He turned back to Rufus and took a deep breath before raising his glass. He proposed no toast and offered no tribute—only a glass full of his finest bourbon and the pleasure of his company. Rufus returned the hopeful gesture, tapping the edge of Reeve's glass with a satisfying, resonant chime.

Before he could touch the liquid to his lips, the air split in two with the first of what he knew would be thousands of phone calls. Instinctually, he glanced to where his phone rested atop Reeve's desk, and would have glanced immediately away were it not for the four distinct letters displayed on its glassy surface.

With swift hands, he dropped the glass of bourbon on the desk and took up his phone. He spared Reeve a glance, who looked about as alarmed as Rufus felt. After a moment, Reeve nodded his approval, and Rufus answered the call as he removed himself to a more private distance.

"Rhea?"

Her voice cracked through the headset like a gunshot. "I'm sorry Rufus, I'm sorry, I'm so _fucking_ sorry—"

"Slow down," he commanded, his mind wheeling with fears. "What are you sorry for?"

"The broadcast—the interview—it was—I'm just—"

"What are you talking about?"

She inhaled sharply, and for a moment Rufus was afraid someone was suffocating her.

"Enzo," she spilled, "he was one of us."

Rufus's eyes shot wide—half in shock, half in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"He was part of Hydra," Rhea continued, tumbling hopelessly over her words. "He was a runner, back when Reno and I were with them… He was initiated two years after us."

"_What?_"

"His family sold him into the gang when they couldn't pay back a loan they'd been given," Rhea explained, her words slowing down. "He was out on a scout when the Turks neutralized Hydra." Her voice cracked. "We thought he was dead."

Rufus was silent for a long time, his eyes falling closed as a painful wave of revelation washed over him. "Deimos must be behind this," he said at last, pressing his fingers into his forehead.

Rhea was quick to protest. "No," she hissed. "Enzo hated Hydra. He was constantly trying to escape, since the moment he was initiated."

"Then why is he doing this?"

Rhea did not respond at first. "He hated Shinra just as much," she finally admitted. "They were the reason his family was in debt in the first place. Mako energy dried up their farm and destroyed their livelihood."

"I don't understand," Rufus said. "Why go through all this trouble just to remove me? What does he stand to gain if the WRO loses my support?"

Rhea sighed. "I don't know," she said. "But if what he said about his wife and kids is true… Maybe he just wants to be heard."

Rufus's body grew rigid in the wake of her words. The images of the collapsed elementary school flashed before his eyes again, and with painful recognition, he remembered the feeling of the stigma lashing around inside his nervous system, begging to drag him down to the Lifestream, one cell at a time.

"You should reach out to him," Rhea said at last. "Hear him. _Listen _to him. Find out what he wants."

It was strange, but after a moment Rufus found himself smiling. He wondered what might have happened had Rhea not called when she did.

"Rhea," he said, "how are you? Is everything okay?"

The line was quiet for a moment. "Everything's fine." Despite her hesitance, her voice was bright and sincere, even a bit hopeful. It gave him strength. "Call me if you need me."

He smiled again and ended the call.

After a reverent pause, Rufus strode back toward Reeve and grabbed the drink off his desk. Reeve spun around, his grave look morphing to one of surprise at the sight of Rufus tipping his glass back triumphantly.

"Sorry, Reeve," Rufus said after a generous sip of bourbon. "You're not rid of me just yet."


End file.
